


There's Nothing More Dangerous Than A Man With Charm

by JadelynTate



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadelynTate/pseuds/JadelynTate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Also known as the Myffy Chronicles over on Twisting The Hellmouth. Buffy and Dawn find their lives entwined with that of the Holmes' brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Wine (Purple Lilies)

**Author's Note:**

> **Author:** Jaded  
>  **Story:** White Wine (Purple Lilies)  
>  **Disclaimer:** Joss owns Buffy, Sherlock (BBC) was created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and is based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I write for fun, not for profit.  
>  **Summary:** Buffy was going to kill Giles. Slowly.  
>  **Warning:** Eh, faint sexual innuendo. Some MINOR spoilers for "A Scandal in Belgravia" from Season 2 of Sherlock. Nothing much else. :)  
>  **A/N 1:** This one is firmly on the feet of BuffyCharmed and her manip that can be found [here.](http://www.tthfanfic.org/Story-26489-6/BuffyCharmed+Adventures+in+the+Miscellaneous.htm) Also, on my classmate and friend Brittany, who got me into BBC Sherlock in the first place. *grumbles about not needing another fandom*

Buffy was not looking forward to this so-called business meeting. First of all, Giles had requested (ie politely ordered) her to be there, as this government guy was specifically interested in a little, er, situation, that had occurred up in Scotland and Buffy had been the senior slayer who'd dealt with it (which was so not her fault—how was she supposed to know the Loch Ness Monster was actually real?!). Second, Buffy didn't do fancy smancy dinners and this place? The fanciest. Giles was in a tux, for Sineya sake!

And she really needed to stop hanging out with the historical mini's so much—she was starting to talk like them. 

“Buffy, please, do stop fidgeting,” Giles requested as their car stopped in front of the fancy restaurant. “You're not a teenager anymore.”

“Giles, I'm here to talk to some schmuck from the Tweed government about the Loch Ness mess!” she hissed as the door was opened by the driver. “And you have me in a dress!”

“I thought you rather liked the dress,” he replied just before getting out of the car. He held out a hand for her. She made a face, glad her face was in the shadows so no one could see, but obligingly let him help her out of the car. 

“That's not the point, Giles!” she hissed again, giving a quick smile to the valet when he stared a bit. She wasn't about to let on that she'd squealed like a little girl when she'd first seen the dress Giles had had Dawn buy her, back before she realized why she needed said dress. Through her smile, she practically growled out, “I don't do fancy!” 

“I rather think you're underestimating yourself,” he replied back as he took her arm and led her inside. She caught sight of a devious twinkle in his eyes as he added, “You did perfectly well at Buckingham.”

“Giles, I thought we agreed never to mention that again!” she exclaimed, dismayed. Giles smirked. 

“Of course, Buffy,” he agreed. “And you'll notice I never mentioned anything about you giving the prince a wine bath.”

“Giles!”

Chuckling, he nodded at the seating guy. “Rupert Giles and Lady Elizabeth Summers, meeting Mycroft Holmes,” he said and the man nodded. They followed him through the restaurant towards a private room in the back. Buffy saw the stares of the other diners and straightened, her expression turning kind and welcoming, a smile on her face. Next to her, Giles quickly coughed, obviously hiding amusement. 

“You are so dead when we get back to HQ,” she informed him through her regal smile. She hated the attention that came with the official title the queen had foisted on her, which was why she rarely used it. Giles just smiled pleasantly and remained quiet. She resisted the urge to pout. 

“Rupert,” a voice said as they were led to the very back, where a slightly balding but surprisingly good-looking man stood up. “Wonderful to see you again, old friend.”

“You as well, Mycroft,” Giles said as they shook hands. Buffy, who'd tensed up at the very thought of this guy being on old friend—she'd had bad experiences with his “old friends”—relaxed at the utter warmth there. This was someone he actually respected and liked. Not another Ethan then. “It has been too long.”

“Indeed it has,” the man, Mr. Holmes, agreed and his eyes fell on her. Buffy swallowed faintly at the assessing gaze. For someone who'd regularly saved the world, this man was...disconcerting. His eyes crinkled at the edge. “And who is your beautiful companion?”

“Mycroft Holmes, this is Lady Elizabeth Summers,” he introduced them and Buffy felt her heart flutter when he actually, honest to goddess, gently lifted her outstretched hand and kissed her knuckles. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Elizabeth,” he said and she felt Giles shift next to her.

“Same, Mr. Holmes,” she said, the only thing she could get through the sudden dryness of her throat. 

“Please, call me Mycroft,” he requested with a smile. She gave a hesitant smile back. She was not going to screw this up, damnit, especially not with an old friend of Giles that the watcher actually liked. 

“Only if you call me Buffy,” she replied. He nodded, smile widening a bit as he waved at the table. 

“Shall we sit down?” he asked and Buffy swallowed again as he gently but firmly pulled her forward and then pulled out the chair directly next to him. Giles coughed but obligingly took the chair on her other side, across from where Mycroft sat down once he'd pushed her in. 

“I took the liberty of ordering some white wine--” was all the guy was able to get out before Giles had a sudden coughing fit that was a poor excuse for hiding his laughter. Buffy blushed and Giles' friends eyes narrowed as he looked between them. “I take it I am missing something?”

“Inside story that Giles is never ever telling anyone,” she said with just enough steel in her voice to make it clear she really would kill him if he revealed that little tidbit. Mycroft's eyes twinkled. 

“Ah, I see,” he said. “I wondered if you were the same Lady Elizabeth I'd heard about.”

Buffy gaped at him and he chuckled. “It must have been dreadfully embarrassing, what happened. White wine is entirely too difficult to get out of clothing.”

Buffy did not squeak.

She'd die arguing with Giles about it, but she absolutely _did not_ squeak. 

“I wouldn't worry my dear,” he assured her, patting her hand comfortingly. “There is very little you could do that outstrips my brother.”

“Sherlock?” Giles asked, outright grinning at Buffy's embarrassment. “I remember him—how is he these days?”

“He fancies himself a consulting detective, which has put him against most of the actual detectives in London,” Mycroft explained. He got a pained expression on his face that Buffy understood all too well. “Unfortunately, he's rather good at it and when something of a...delicate...nature came up, I was asked to approach Sherlock about the situation.”

“And what did he do?” Giles asked, a somewhat amused look on his face. Mycroft's expression, however, turned downright irritated. 

“He was brought to Buckingham...in a sheet.”

“In a sheet?” Giles repeated faintly as Buffy's jaw dropped. 

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed. He pursed his lips. “And nothing but a sheet. He refused to get dressed.”

Buffy flashed back to Dawn when they met the Pope—she'd been in Tinkerbell pajamas and one of those bunny t-shirts Anya had absolutely hated, with the quote “Seriously, the old people have got to go.” Her lips quirked. 

“Sounds like when Dawn met the Pope,” she said and when he looked at her, one eyebrow raised, she smiled wryly. “In her PJ's.” 

“Dawn?” he asked curiously. 

“My younger sister.”

His expression lightened and he chuckled. “Yes, though I don't believe Sherlock would have gone to such lengths as to remain in the sheet if he'd actually met the royal family that day. PJ's, you say?”

Buffy gave him a description of the pajama's in question as Giles shook his head, still mortified over that. Mycroft laughed. 

“I can't imagine my brother in such clothes,” he said. “But yes, it does sound like we both have...younger sibling syndrome, if you will.”

Buffy smiled but before she could say anything more, the waiter finally approached with the wine. Buffy felt her cheeks heat up but stubbornly accepted one of the glasses and then looked down at the menu. 

It was all in French. 

Crap.

“I'd suggest the Fricassee de Poulet,” Mycroft said softly after a moment. Buffy looked at him and he was smiling. “Chicken in wine.”

“I...yeah, that sounds good,” she said, slightly embarrassed. She _knew_ this wasn't a good idea!

Mycroft studied her a moment and then nodded to himself. Giles either wasn't paying attention or was ignoring them, she honestly wasn't sure which. When the waiter finally came, Buffy bit her lip when the man began speaking in French. That was it, she was going to kill her watcher. 

“Je vais prendre le confit de canard, et la dame commencera avec une salade légère suivi par le fricasse de poulet. Rupert?” Mycroft said and Buffy felt her heart flutter again when he'd motioned at her when speaking. Had he just ordered for her? No one had ever ordered for her before. The waiter nodded and turned to Giles, completely ignoring her. Apparently he had. Thank God. 

“Hm?” Giles said, staring at Mycroft in surprise before he realized the waiter was waiting. “Oh, of course!” 

He made his own order, also in flawless French, and Buffy seriously considered talking Dawn into teaching her the most basic of the language the next time she saw her little sister. It would probably help. 

“I take it you don't speak French?” Mycroft asked once the waiter was gone. 

“No, Dawnie's Mrs. Omnilinguistic,” she admitted and smirked internally when she saw Giles do a double-take at her word choice. Yes, she did know polysyllabic words, would wonders never cease. She shrugged daintily at Mycroft. “I'm more of the physical type.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft smiled and Buffy was so distracted by Giles' soft “oh dear lord” that she completely missed the way his eyes shined as he looked at her. “Physical.”

**~~~*~~~**

The next day, a bouquet of purple lilies were delivered to Buffy at the London Council house. Ignoring the whispering and giggles of the mini's watching her take the card out, she read it silently. 

_Buffy, I sincerely enjoyed our dinner last night and would be honored if you would accompany me to a banquet at Buckingham Palace on Saturday. Please let me know at your earliest convenience._

_Vôtre fidèlement, Mycroft Holmes_

“Hey, Antoine?” she called and the little french slayer poked her head in between the two taller girls in front of her. “What does 'Vôtre fidèlement' mean?”

“'Yours faithfully,'” she replied, looking delighted. “Why? Who're the flowers from?”

Buffy smiled and didn't answer. 

Looks like she wasn't going to have to kill Giles after all.

**Translation:** _Je vais prendre le confit de canard, et la dame commencera avec une salade légère suivi par le fricasse de poulet. Rupert?_ I will have the preserved duck and the lady will have the chicken in wine, with a light salad to start. Rupert? (I do not actually speak French so the translation is via lindiel).


	2. Blue Paint (Green Bracelet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy was happy. Dawn was sister-bound to investigate.

Buffy had taken to humming. 

She was also singing (at the top of her lungs, in the shower, and very very off-key). 

And she was _smiling_. Honest to god, blinding everyone in a mile radius, _smiling_. 

So, naturally, Dawn had to find out who this new guy in her sisters life was. Xander and Willow both agreed, as the elder Summers had a bad habit of dating evil guys, or guys who had strong predilections towards the darker side of life. 

So Dawn, being totally stealthy, faked illness when her sister went on patrol so Dawn could stay behind and snoop. 

Only, apparently, her sister had grown savy (or just paranoid, it was honestly hard to tell), and, well...Dawn was fated to have to listen to smurf jokes for the rest of her life. 

Honestly, who booby-traps their underwear drawer with a paint filled balloon attached to a crossbow, which was triggered by the the opening of said drawer? 

As Dawn wiped the paint out of her eyes, she had a sudden thought. There was no way Buffy had managed this on her own...

“ANDREW!!!!”

**~~~*~~~**

Buffy had been enjoying some illicit smoochies with Mycroft in his London townhouse (which were only illicit because she was supposed to be patrolling), when she got a text message from Faith, who was in London for a senior council conference. Rolling her eyes, she pulled out her phone and pushed the screen to active. It was a picture message and she debated for a moment if she really wanted to open a picture message from Faith while in Mycroft's presence. Finally shrugging, she clicked 'Open' and was forced to stare for a moment before she cracked up laughing. 

“What is so amusing, my dear?” Mycroft asked, eyebrow raised and a smile gracing his lips. Buffy couldn't answer, so she just handed the phone over to her boyfriend. His eyebrows rose as he took in the picture of her sister, blue paint all over her face and chest, chasing after a terrified Andrew. 

“I told...you...she would snoop!” Buffy gasped out and Mycroft chuckled. He'd been the one to suggest the trap when she complained that she thought Dawn would take matters into her own hands soon to find out who he was. “Oh, I can't wait to get home.”

“Hmmm,” Mycroft sounded, turning her phone off and placing it on the coffee table. He looked at her. “I suppose I'm not doing this right then...”

That stopped Buffy laughing. “Doing what?” she asked, confused. His eyes flickered down, to her lips, before he gave a slow, dangerous smile. 

“I haven't apparently made enough of an impression if you can't wait to get home...” he said, one hand sliding feather-like down her arm, lingering on the green stone bracelet he'd bought her for her birthday.

Buffy gulped, eyes going wide and dark. 

On second thought, Dawn could wait.


	3. Pink Dresses (Grey Deductions)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two months and Mycroft and Buffy decide its time to introduce their siblings to each other.

Mycroft was barely through the door of 221B Baker street when his brother straightened in his chair, his violin stuttering out as his eyes narrowed on him. 

“You're dating someone.” 

At the table by the two windows, John looked up in perplexity. “How could you possibly know that?” he demanded of his flatmate (and possibly more, it was one thing Mycroft was still infuriatingly unsure of). 

“His demeanor, obviously,” Sherlock said, as if he couldn't believe he had to explain it. He focused back on Mycroft as John rolled his eyes. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Elizabeth,” he said, knowing his brother would not stop pestering him until he answered. “We're having a family dinner, her and her sister, you and I, tonight. _You will be there,_ Sherlock.”

“Only if John can come,” his brother answered after a moment of studying him. “You know I don't make the best first impression, ridiculous as the notion is.”

So Sherlock had already deduced Mycroft was more than just fond of Buffy. Interesting. He'd have to work harder at keeping Sherlock caught off-guard. 

Though, perhaps, meeting the Slayer would do that for him. His lips quirked at the thought. 

“Wait, hold on, what makes you think I'm going to go with you?” John interrupted. He was ignored. Both Holmes knew John would come, if only to assuage his curiosity about what type of woman would date Mycroft and vice-versa.

“I don't think you'll have anything to worry about, with first impressions,” Mycroft told his brother as John sputtered at being dismissed. “Her sister Dawn once met the Pope in pajamas.”

“The Catholic Pope?” John asked, jaw dropping as Sherlock's eyes got just a bit of a twinkle, enough so that anyone who knew him, really knew him, would know he thought the idea was amusing. 

“Is there any other one?” Mycroft asked John, who's mouth snapped close. Sherlock was smirking and Mycroft could feel his lips struggling to do the same. He stamped down on that—no need to give his brother any more than he already had. “Tonight at seven, a car will pick you up. Do wear something more than a sheet this time.”

And with that, he walked out. 

**~~~*~~~**

“Hey, Brat,” Buffy said, coming into her sisters flat in the Council owned apartment building. “I have news.”

“You found a way to fit in those new pumps Giles was grumbling about into your closet?” Dawn asked, looking up from the small table she had crammed into the tiny dinette off the kitchen.

Buffy pouted. “That Slervick demon drooled all over my old ones,” she complained. “And Giles promised all slayers would get replacement clothes when demons destroyed them.”

“A decision he's regretted since the day he uttered it,” Dawn smirked. “What do you need Buff? Willow wants this translated ASAP.”

“What is it?” Buffy asked, perking up as she looked at the squigglies across her sisters pad of paper. “Apocalypse?”

“It will be if the girls in Brazil have anything to say about it,” Dawn snorted and Buffy frowned. “It's a casserole recipe they got from one of the forest villagers. The girls are hungry.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I always knew the Brazil house was insane,” she noted and Dawn smiled. “How long till you finish?”

“Ten minutes, give or take,” she shrugged, looking down at the papers. “Its not a language I've had a lot of experience with.”

Which explained why Dawn had snagged such a mundane translation project. The Key wasn't content with just the languages she knew like the back of her hand; she just had to go after more. 

“So...you should be done in time for dinner?” she asked, trying for innocense. She didn't think it worked, if Dawn's expression was any indication. 

“What do you want?” she asked flatly. 

“We-ll...”

“Buffy...”

“Mycroft and I are having dinner tonight,” she said and Dawn's eyes brightened. 

“Is Mycroft the boytoy?” she asked eagerly. Buffy smirked. _Caught you._ Dawn had stopped snooping after the paint balloon but that didn't mean she wasn't still dying to know what was going on. 

“Yes, his name is Mycroft,” she agreed. Two months and only Giles had known his name. She made a mental note to get her watcher something nice for not giving in and telling. She knew the others had probably been driving him nuts. 

“Well, at least you know he won't make fun of your name,” Dawn said pragmatically. Buffy smirked. 

“Anyway, we're having dinner tonight,” she said. “He's bringing his brother. You wanna come?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” she demanded. When Buffy opened her mouth to answer, Dawn held up a hand, making a face. “Don't answer that. I know what you're going to say.”

Buffy snickered. Dawnie was never living that down. “At least you and Sherlock, that's his brother, will have something to talk about,” she said and Dawn frowned at her. “He apparently went to Buckingham Palace once in nothing but a sheet.”

**~~~*~~~**

Mycroft's first impression of Dr. Dawn Summers was one of cleverness, curiosity, deviousness, and mischief—not all that different from Sherlock, actually. Those who didn't know Sherlock as well as John and himself wouldn't think Sherlock could be mischievous but there was a veritable fountain inside his brother that only came out with people he truly trusted. 

Mycroft had the numerable mental scars to prove it. 

Ushering them forward, he felt more than saw Sherlock and John look over curiously as he led the two women inside the sitting room. Dawn looked around, unimpressed. 

“Too clean,” he heard her whisper to Buffy. “I knew there had to be something wrong with him.”

“Shut up!” his girlfriend hissed back and when he glanced back at them, he saw Dawn smirking as her sister glared at her. 

“Elizabeth, Dawn, I'd like to introduce you to my brother and his...flatmate,” Mycroft said and was rewarded by John hanging his head in obvious exasperation. 

“One of these days...” the doctor mumbled as he and Sherlock both stood. Mycroft saw his brother look between him and Buffy a moment before nodding to himself. 

“I'm Sherlock Holmes,” his brother said, giving a polite smile. John stared at him in surprise but Mycroft breathed a mental sigh of relief. Sherlock had deduced (correctly) that Buffy wasn't just a random shag or girlfriend. They may not get along most of the time, but family loyalty apparently still had _some_ sway with the younger Holmes. 

“Buffy Summers,” she answered, holding out a hand. Mycroft resisted the urge to pinch his nose when his brother eyed it with thinly veiled distaste before reluctantly taking it. Thank God he'd warned her about his brother's idiosyncrasies.

“Buffy?” Sherlock asked. “Short for Elizabeth?”

“No,” Dawn answered before Buffy could. “Only the Queen calls Buffy Elizabeth. And the boytoy, apparently. Her birth name is Buffy. Mom was a hippie.”

“Thank you, Dawn,” Buffy sighed. She gave Sherlock and John a rueful smile. “I'd argue with her but unfortunately she's not wrong.”

“Comes with the doctorate,” Dawn said smugly. Buffy rolled her eyes and Mycroft felt a stab of jealousy. He'd known from talking with her that Buffy was closer to her sister than he was to Sherlock but seeing it now... 

“You have a doctorate?” John asked, looking at Dawn in surprise. Mycroft shrugged off the feelings. Now was not the time. 

“Linguistics and Ancient Cultures,” she nodded. “Dr. Dawn Summers.” 

“What university?” Sherlock asked, eying her. 

“Oxford. Top of my class.” She didn't seem the least bit intimidated by the questioning. Interesting. It spoke of prior experience. 

“How old are you?” John asked, still staring. 

“Don't you know its rude to ask a woman her age?” Dawn asked archly. Mycroft saw Sherlock's lips twitch when John blushed faintly. He could feel the first stirrings of worry. Perhaps introducing a former kleptomaniac to his sociopathic brother wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

“She's twenty-six,” Buffy said, shaking her head.

“That would make you thirty, thirty-one?” Sherlock asked, looking at Buffy again. Mycroft frowned when Buffy's eyes widened. She opened her mouth but her sister cut her off before she could say whatever it was she was about to say. 

“Do we have to go over this again?” she asked and Buffy turned to her, looking faintly wounded. She started ticking things off on her fingers. “No, you do not have thirty-one hair, no you do not have thirty-one wrinkles, and no, you haven't gone downhill since you turned thirty.”

“Brat.”

“Airhead.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock mused and then skewered Buffy with his gaze. “You're a confident, intelligent woman, despite your sister's joking assertions to the contrary and your hair color. You're strong—not just mentally, but physically as well. But you don't work out, it's tedious and unneeded, so you obviously are in a profession that requires a good deal of physical labor. You walk and hold yourself like a trained professional martial artist, but your personality would never allow for that type of activity. Dancer, gymnast, probably a cheerleader in school. You'd like the attention. Not Mycroft's typical type. He usually goes for simpering fools.” 

The room was dead silent as Sherlock finished his deduction. Mycroft closed his eyes, certain this was the end of his relationship with Buffy. 

“Wow,” Dawn was the one to break the silence and Mycroft opened his eyes to see her and Buffy were staring at Sherlock in fascination and not a little nostalgia. Dawn beamed and Mycroft was gifted with the sight of his brother looking at her in surprise and not a little confusion, a rare thing indeed. Dawn clapped delightedly. “He's like a male Anya!”

“Only hopefully without the blunt anecdotes about his sex life,” Buffy agreed, wrinkling her nose. John choked and she smiled warmly at him, eyes twinkling, and Mycroft felt himself relax. “No matter how many times we told Anya we didn't want to know how good Xander was at giving her orgasms, she insisted on telling us.” 

“And then got irrationally jealous whenever Willow hung out with Xander,” Dawn said as John turned red and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. The linguist frowned, looking at Buffy. “I never did get that.” 

“You weren't supposed to, you were fourteen,” Buffy answered dryly. Dawn stuck her tongue out at her. “Oh, very mature.”

“Says the woman who still has a collection of stuffed animals,” Dawn snorted and Buffy turned faintly pink.

Mycroft smiled, eyes shining, as his brother looked between the two women like he'd found a lovely new puzzle to work out. He knew introducing his brother to Buffy would bring about interesting results but this was better than he had expected. He looked forward to seeing what Sherlock attempted in his quest to properly deduce the slayer.

Though, he considered as John and Dawn began chatting about languages, Sherlock stared at Buffy, and the woman in question slipped her hand in his, perhaps he should warn her first. 

He'd rather his brother not get too seriously broken, after all.


	4. Red Blood (Yellow Translations)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's assisting Lestrade with a case and needs a translator. Enter Dawn and Buffy.

Greg Lestrade had seen a lot of weird stuff in his police career but this...he was pretty sure this took the cake. 

Sherlock didn't actually know everything. 

Apparently, he didn't read Ancient Egyptian and had no idea why the killer would write in the dead language in the victims blood. It made no sense. 

Thank God the division had recently gotten a language consultant Greg could call. The sooner Sherlock found out what the language said, the sooner they could figure out who'd killed the poor unfortunate man. 

“I've called in a translator,” Greg told the consultant, knowing it was going to rankle him. Behind him, he could practically hear Sally and Anderson smirking. He resisted the urge to scowl at them. It wouldn't do any good and the less Sherlock knew about how protective he was of the younger man, the better.

“So did I,” John said and Greg frowned at him. He held up his hands. “We need someone who can actually get along with Sherlock. Can your guy?” 

It rankled that John had a point. Their translator had never met Sherlock. Hell, _Greg_ hadn't even met the guy, but apparently Dr. Summers was the best in his field. Still... “You can't just call in your own consultants,” he reprimanded. “The higher ups barely tolerate you and Sherlock!”

“Good thing they adore me then,” a voice said from the doorway to the house. Greg looked over, taking in the two woman standing there. The one who spoke had long brown hair pulled back in a braid, was dressed in a short skirt, a low-cut tank top, and had a cardigan over it. It should have looked frumpy, like it would have on Molly, but the woman made it work. 

He had a unfortunate flashback to the sexy-library fantasies he'd had as a teen and shifted uncomfortably. 

The other was a shorter (and older) blonde, hair pulled back in a low bun, green eyes assessing the scene with a critical and practiced eye. He frowned. Who were they?

“Dawn, Elizabeth,” Sherlock greeted the two women. He looked...pleased. Greg frowned, getting more confused by the minute. Sherlock focused on the younger of the two expectantly. “What does it say?”

“Depends,” the brunette said. 

“On what?”

“Do you know pig-latin?”

“That is not pig-latin,” Anderson said nearby, clear skepticism in his voice.

“It's the Ancient Egyptian equivelant,” she agreed. She fired off a rapid string of what he guessed was Egyptian. “Roughly translated, it's a riddle. 'This thing all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down.'”

“They left us a bloody riddle?” Sally asked and Greg saw both women smile slightly. “That's sick.”

“No kidding,” the blonde said. She glanced at her companion. “Dawn, do you know the answer?”

“Of course,” the brunette, Dawn, said, looking affronted. Which meant the blonde was Elizabeth. Dawn looked at Sherlock, who was frowning. She smirked and Greg got even more confused than he had been before. “You've never read The Hobbit, have you? Pity. I always liked Smaug.”

“Time,” John said suddenly and everyone looked at him. “The answer's time. But how would that help?”

“Perhaps it's not just a riddle,” Sherlock mused.

“A message?” Elizabeth asked and he nodded curtly. She made a face. “There's going to be more, aren't there?” Greg felt his stomach lurch as Sherlock nodded again. 

“Most likely,” the consutlant agreed. He smiled. “Good. Something to look forward to.”

Both women shook their heads but didn't look disturbed. Obviously they knew what to expect when it came to Sherlock. 

“Freak,” he heard Sally mutter. Sherlock didn't seem concerned but both women froze. 

“What did you just call him?” Dawn asked, eyes narrowing into slits. Sherlock straightened, eyes flickering between Sally, Dawn, and Elizabeth worriedly.

“He's a freak,” Sally apparently was either very blind or very stupid—couldn't she sense the way the temperature in the room had gone down? “He gets off on this.”

“Does he now?” the blonde asked lowly. She sounded just as pissed as her sister. 

“Why else would he come and work with us when he doesn't get paid?” Sally argued. 

“Because he's a decent human being,” Dawn said flatly.

“He's arrogant, rude, blunt--”

“None of which have anything to do with being a decent human being,” Dawn broke in. “Some of the most uncouth, rude, and arrogant people I know would die for others in a second if they could. Just because you're too self-righteous to see it doesn't mean it isn't true.”

Sally scoffed. “Trust the freak to have freakish friends.”

John was tense, and Greg had been an officer long enough to tell when someone was about to snap. “Alright, stop it, both of you,” he ordered. “Sargent, back off. That's an order. Anderson, don't speak.”

Sally did as she was told, which was good because if she didn't, Greg wasn't sure things would have turned out well for her. He sighed, looking at Dawn. 

“Look, I'm grateful for the assist,” and the defense of Sherlock, “but until our translator gets here we can't just take your word—what?” Greg asked, because at his comment, Sherlock, John, Dawn, and Elizabeth all looked at him like he was stupid, Sally forgotten.

Dawn held out a hand, smirking as the blonde snickered. “Allow me to introduce myself, Detective Inspector. I'm Dr. Dawn Summers, Division Linguist Consultant,” she said and Greg gaped. She made an obvious show of grabbing his hand and shaking it before letting go. She waved a hand at the blonde. “And my sister, Buffy Summers. She's paranoid about murder scenes so tagged along.”

“Last time we let you go to one alone, you got kidnapped...for the fifteenth time,” her sister pointed out. Greg did a double take and was gratified and somewhat surprised to see Sherlock and John do the same thing. Apparently they hadn't known that.

“I thought your name was Elizabeth?” Anderson asked, ignoring the kidnapping mention. Greg could hear the flirtation in his voice and he resisted the urge to sigh. He should stock up on aspirin, Sally was going to be bitchy. Sherlock suddenly dropped down next to the body, inspecting something, as John glared at Anderson. 

“Only three people can get away with calling me Elizabeth,” the blonde—Buffy? What kind of name was Buffy?--said firmly. She glared at the room in large and Greg saw John smirk. “It's Buffy. You call me Elizabeth, I'll punch you out.”

“Who can get away with calling you Elizabeth?” Sally asked as more than one officer looked at her skeptically. She seemed too tiny to be able to do much damage. 

“Sherlock, her boyfriend, and the Queen,” Dr. Summers rattled off before Buffy could. “Not even I can get away with calling her Elizabeth and I'm her bloody sister.”

“The queen?” someone, he wasn't sure who, squeaked. Dawn smirked as her sister shifted uncomfortably. 

“Let me reintroduce my sister--”

“Don't you dare!” Buffy hissed. 

“--Lady Elizabeth Summers, LG,” Dawn finished as if her sister hadn't spoken. “She's a Lady Companion.”

Greg more than saw the various officers still in hearing distance straighten to attention. He couldn't help but stare. This tiny little woman was a member of the Order of the Garter? How? He was momentarily distracted by Sally, who sucked in a deep breath. Oh yeah. She'd called the Lady a freak. That couldn't end well.

“I have it,” Sherlock said suddenly and everyone looked at him. “Dawn, is this hieroglyphics?”

He was holding up the woman's digital watch, which Greg could see didn't have the traditional numbers. 

“Yup,” she said, glancing at it. “Two o'clock, pm. The date's for tomorrow though.”

“That's how long we have to find him before he does it again,” Sherlock announced. “He's playing with you, Lestrade. He has no intention of stopping.”

With that, Sherlock left the house, grabbing Dr. Summers' arm and dragging her with him as he babbled something about Ancient Egyptian and Arabic and regions. Greg didn't understand it, but the brunette apparently did as she shot back at him just as quickly. 

He saw Lady Elizabeth look at John. “Come on,” she said. “Let's go make sure they don't get themselves killed.”

“Or anyone else,” John agreed easily. “Think we can convince them to stop somewhere for lunch?”

“I hope so, I'm starving,” she replied as they made their way after Sherlock and Dr. Summers. “Mycroft had to cancel brunch. Apparently Qumar is threatening to blow something up again...”

“Please tell him to clear it up, Sherlock always gets tetchy when that happens.”

“Dawn does too.”

“That's because Sherlock and Dawn are horrible influences on each other. … You ever think Mycroft lost his mind when he decided to have us all over for dinner?” 

“All the time.”

Somehow, Greg didn't think he'd seen the last of the Summers sisters.


	5. Clear Motives (Opaque Manipulations)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's going on with Sherlock so John calls on someone who might have an answer...

Ever since the case of the Hieroglyphic Serial Killer, as the papers took to calling him, Sherlock had been oddly quiet. Oh, he'd solved the case, helped Lestrade catch the guy, but something about it had, if John didn't know any better, gotten under his skin. 

And he had a pretty good guess what that something was. 

“Thanks for meeting with me,” he said, sitting down with Dawn a few days after Lestrade had apprehended the killer and Sherlock had gone back to being bored. 

“You said it was important—is Sherlock okay?”

“That's why I called,” John admitted, looking over his cup of coffee at the linguist. “He hasn't been himself since the case ended.”

“He might be going through the adrenaline withdrawal,” she suggested. 

“No, that's not it,” he dismissed it, even as he internally wondered how she could possibly know about that. “It's more...I think it was Donovan.”

“Who?”

“Sargent Donovan, the woman who called Sherlock a freak,” he clarified and her expression cleared into a scowl. 

“Did the bitca say something to him?” Her grip on her cup of coffee tightened. 

“No,” he shook his head. “I think getting reprimanded by a Lady of the Garter shook her a bit. She avoided him the rest of the case.”

“Good,” she said with thinly veiled contempt. “Buffy asked Mycroft about her—he's been trying to get Sherlock to press harassment charges for years but Sherlock refuses.” 

John didn't know that, but it didn't much surprise him. “He might lose out on being able to work with Lestrade and the division,” he said. “Sherlock wouldn't jeopardize that.”

“That's what Buffy and I figured,” Dawn agreed. “So what's the what?”

“What?”

“Sorry, Scooby slang,” she grinned at his confusion. “What's going on with Sherlock?” 

“I caught him online researching you and Buffy,” he said, deciding not ask what “Scooby slang” was. “And when one of the officers made an...overly sexual remark about your sister, Sherlock glared at him. He doesn't do that usually—in fact, the innuendo goes right over his head most days.”

Dawn grinned. “See, that's where he and Anya differ,” she said. “Anya was all about the sex and money. Less about the smarts. I mean, don't get me wrong, Anya was no dummy, but she didn't care about science or math or anything that didn't have to do with her orgasms and money. She...didn't get social niceties.” 

John smiled, even as his cheeks turned red at the twenty-six year old's easy mention of orgasms. “Where is she now?” he asked curiously. Her expression darkened. “Dawn?”

“She died,” she answered, quietly. “Back in '03. When Sunnydale collapsed, she didn't make it out.”

John reached across and covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” she said, voice hitched. “It was years ago.”

“It's never fine when you lose someone,” he said. “I lost a bunch of mates in Afghanistan—I still mourn 'em. I still...have nightmares about how they died.”

She didn't say anything but he could see her blinking back tears. He disentangled his hand from hers after another quick squeeze and grabbed one of the paper napkin. She accepted it with a sniff. 

“Sorry, usually I don't....it's hard. Her birthday was last week...She would have been thirty. She was dreading thirty. Hers, anyway, Buffy's older and she couldn't wait to see Buffy have to deal with it.” 

“Most people fear thirty,” he joked and she laughed. “Your sister didn't seem to like it.”

“Yeah, she forbid us from celebrating her birthday cause she didn't want to be reminded and her birthdays always end up a disaster,” she agreed with a small grin. “We didn't listen to her. Probably should have.”

John chuckled. 

“Anyway, Sherlock,” she said, getting back to why he'd called her in the first place. “He caught innuendo about Buffy, glared at the guy, and researched us? That about right?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And I checked the history on my laptop, he forgot to erase it after he used it, which isn't like him either. It was some website on the force of friendship or something like that.”

“He's trying to figure out why we stood up for him,” Dawn said and John nodded. That was the conclusion he'd come to as well. “He doesn't get it.”

“Nope,” he agreed. “So why did you?”

“Besides both me and Buffy have been called freaks too and we hate it?” she asked and he nodded. She sighed. “Buffy's falling for Mycroft. I mean, I get it, sorta. He treats her like a princess but not like a damsel. He knows she's strong and independent and he leaves her to it—but...”

“He treats her like she's the most important woman in the world,” John finished and she nodded. 

“Buffy hasn't had that before, not really. I mean, I adored Angel, he was her first love, but they had this Epically Doomed Romance thing going on. He treated her right but...he had a bad habit of acting like she had to be guided in the ways of love. It was very...sixteenth century. He seemed to be stuck in that time period when it came to certain things.”

He got the distinct impression there was more she wasn't saying but let it go.

“Then there was Riley,” she continued. “He was a farm boy and treated her, for a time, like Mycroft did. Maybe not as aristocratic as Mycroft but...she got to be a princess. But he also treated her like the damsel and he hated that she was so much stronger and more athletic than he was. It threatened his manhood or some such rot.”

John couldn't help but chuckle at her. “What?”

“Nothing, its just odd to hear you use common British sayings in an American accent is all,” he said. “'some such rot,' I heard that all the time growing up.”

“I've lived in Europe since I was sixteen, England for most of it, and I grew up with two Brits as my mentor and my best friend—it all rubbed off,” she shrugged, smiling. 

“Anyway, I doubt Buffy'd want me to go into the rest of the idiots, but...Mycroft's the first normal guy I've seen who treats her like a princess but respects her abilities too. He doesn't expect her to be in need of saving—she's the one who is usually doing it and honestly, I think it turns him on.”

“What's this got to do with Sherlock,” John asked, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the last part of her comment.

“I'm getting there,” Dawn smiled, like she knew what was going through his head. “Buffy loves Mycroft, whether she's admitted it to herself or not. And as far as the rest of us are concerned, that makes him family.”

“And Sherlock?”

“Family of family,” she shrugged. She grew more serious, staring at him. “He might one day move up, but one thing you need to know about us? Family is everything. And no one messes with that. No one.”

“So you stood up for Sherlock because he's Mycroft's brother?”

“And because I kind of adore him,” she agreed impishly. “In case you didn't get that.” 

“Oh, I got it,” he laughed. He recalled the first time she'd shown up at the flat. Sherlock had been bored but that had lasted about as long as it took her to drag him out of the flat, arguing about whether or not he was going with her. Sherlock was taller than her but Dawn was stronger and had been taught self-defense by numerous individuals, she later told him, and so Sherlock hadn't stood a chance when she stuffed him in her car. 

The two of them had ended up running around London having some sort of paint-ball game with several of Dawn's friends—Sherlock, despite his Mind Palace and ability to navigate London unlike anyone John knew, had resoundingly lost. John was pretty sure they still had a sheet with his body print from where he'd fallen in bed covered in paint. 

They'd been doing it once a week ever since. 

“Speaking of which, Mrs. Hudson wants to meet you,” he said. “She hates the paint but she wants to meet the woman who manages to get him smiling like he'd just solved a particularly nasty murder without any blood involved at all.” 

“She doesn't think...” she said slowly and he frowned. “I mean, she knows Sherlock's not into women, right? Cause I'm not interested in him like that and I'd rather not get matchmaked.”

“I think part of her's hoping but she's still not fully convinced I'm not dating Sherlock,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

“Right, because the only one you're fooling is yourself,” Dawn agreed with a wicked grin. 

He gave her a look. “I'm not bloody fucking Sherlock Holmes,” he said, only remembering at the last minute to lower his voice so the entire cafe didn't hear. She merely laughed at him. 

“If you say so.” 

“I do!” 

“Okay.”

“Really.”

“Okey dokey.”

John was quiet a moment before...

“Brat.”

**~~*~~**

“I told you he'd call her,” Mycroft said, smiling smugly from where he and Buffy were sitting in his car, watching John and Dawn goof off and generally act like teenagers until Sherlock appeared and dragged them both with him. Mycroft had a brief moment of concern for Dawn, but she didn't seem all that unwilling when Sherlock grabbed her hand, so he pushed it away. Besides, she was the one who grabbed _John's_ hand, so, really, it wasn't like the two of them would be completely alone to create chaos. John would reel them in. 

He hoped. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Are you sure it's a good idea to let Sherlock and Dawn work together like this? I mean, the paint-ball is bad enough...”

“John's with them,” he said, repeating his earlier thoughts. “While he doesn't always curb Sherlock's...enthusiasm...he does have a remarkable ability to get my brother to actually think before he acts.”

“Sherlock doesn't strike me as the leap before you look kind of guy,” Buffy said, frowning. 

“Which is why he gets away with it, no one expects him to do so,” Mycroft said, frowning. “He's a good actor.”

“I suppose,” she mused as Mycroft turned away from the window and motioned for the driver to go back to the townhouse. “And Dawn has been happier than she's been in a while...”

“Dawn respects Sherlock and whether my brother will verbally admit it, she's just as sharp as he is, which means more to him than anything else,” Mycroft said. “They'll be good for one another—just like John was.”

Buffy stared at him for a moment. “That's why you insisted on the dinner, isn't it?” she asked, blinking. “How? You hadn't even met Dawn!” 

“But I'd heard of her from you,” he reminded her simply, taking her hand in his. “From that alone I suspected they'd either hate one another on sight or become good friends...one of the few my brother has.”

Buffy smiled at him, her expression melting into one of understanding and even, dare he think it, pride. “You wanted to give him another friend, someone to look after him.”

“I did,” he agreed slowly. “John's been wonderful for him, as have Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. One more friend, someone he trusted and cared about, could only be a good thing.”

“You're a good big brother, Mycroft,” she told him softly. His lips quirked and then he looked out the window, a rueful smile filling his face when he caught sight of Sherlock himself staring at the car as they passed him, Dawn, and John. 

“He doesn't make it easy,” he said, turning away as they went around the corner and lost sight of him. 

“He's the little sibling,” she shrugged, leaning into him, her head on his shoulder. “They never do.”


	6. Purple Skin (Crimson Rage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets his first taste of the dangers of Slaying when Buffy gets called to Cleveland.

It started off innocently enough, Buffy supposed. Three girls who'd seen way too much television and not enough reality had found themselves in one of the more shady occult shops in Cleveland. They'd pulled all their money and bought a book, not really knowing what it was they were buying; a demon summoning manual.

The demon who'd sold it to them had, naturally, skipped town by the time the slayers got involved. 

Sarah Parker, hysterical after seeing the death of her two fellow “witches,” had gone to the apparent freaks in her high school, figuring if anyone knew what was going on, it'd be them. She'd been right, of course, but that hadn't stopped the demon she'd stupidly summoned from finding her anyway and tearing her to bits and almost putting Faith in another coma. 

That was when Robin decided to call in Buffy and her team.

“Hey Mycroft, its me,” the blonde was saying into the phone as she dragged her emergency bag out from her closet. She hadn't had to use it in almost three months and she'd never had to go to Cleveland before, Faith and her team had always been able to handle anything that wasn't in the apocalypse season, when every Hellmouth in the world got an influx of extra slayers and fighters. Buffy had really been hoping she'd never have to take it to Cleveland in any other month than May. 

“Buffy, dear, what is it?” Mycroft wasn't going to waste time on pleasantries, when she only ever called him at during the day when it was an emergency or she couldn't make it to their evening plans. Considering they had no evening plans that day, he had to have known it was an emergency. 

“The Pineapple Express is flying me and my team to Cleveland in about an hour,” she said, using the code for Willow; you never knew who could be listening in. “Faith's in the hospital and Robin called in S&D team Alpha.”

They had five S&D (Search and Destroy) teams, groups of slayers and watchers whose sole job was to go into places where there either weren't any slayers, the slayers were outnumbered, or the slayers had been taken out and deal with the demon population until they took down the demon causing all the problems or things calmed down, whichever the case may be. Buffy was leader of team Alpha, the top team, which consisted entirely of Sunnydale Slayers. 

On one hand, she loved being on a S&D team because it meant she was on down-time until getting called in—which was why she lived in London and only sometimes patrolled with the London girls. On the other hand, however, being on an S&D team meant she saw all the really fucked up situations, such as when the entire Portugal house got slaughtered by a nest of vampires working with a clan of Martok demons. 

As Faith said once, only the truly fucked up themselves could really hack it on an S&D team. Buffy sometimes wondered what it said about her that she was on one when Faith had not bothered to even try. 

Mycroft knew all of this, of course, she'd explained it before. So he knew how serious it had to be to call in Buffy's team, who were usually reserved for the stuff even teams Beta, Delta Kappa, and Gamma couldn't handle. 

“You'll be safe?” he asked lowly and she could hear him moving to get up. 

“I'll try my best,” she promised, knowing it was foolish to actually say she would be. If anyone knew the likelihood of death, it was her. “We still don't know what the target is, only that it's an old one.” 

“Perhaps you should call in Gamma,” he suggested quietly. “Illyria was an old one, wasn't she?”

That was an idea. Illyria and Spike, the sole survivors of the attack by Wolfram & Hart, had made their way to England after everything had finished. They'd meant only to let Buffy and Giles know what had happened but had ended up staying with them for close to six months before Buffy gave in and assigned Spike and Illyria as a two-man S&D team. They lived in New York most of the time, where it was easier for the two of them to get by. She tried remembering if they were on a mission. She didn't think so.

“I think I might,” she agreed. Having to work with Spike wasn't something she was keen to do, they still had issues, but Mycroft was right; Illyria could be a big help.

“I love you,” she said suddenly and then froze. She hadn't meant to blurt that out, she really really hadn't, but it was the truth. Almost seven months of dating, she'd fallen helplessly in love with his charming personality, the ability to turn the entire world on its head with a simple phone call, the protective, exasperated love he felt for his brother (and, to a lesser extent, John), and the world-weariness born of years of working behind the scenes of the British government. 

That didn't mean to say he didn't have his faults—he was opinionated, stubborn, manipulative, way too intuitional, blunt, sometimes tactless, haughty, and sometimes way too aristocratic. In many ways, he was the weirdest mix of all three of her past ex-boyfriends but with a healthy dose of some the three strongest women she'd known; Cordelia, Anya, and Tara. 

Even Dawn had noticed the similarities, though she hadn't said so in as many words. 

Over the phone, Mycroft cleared his throat. “And I you,” he said softly, hesitantly, and Buffy sank down onto her bed with a smile. Mycroft wasn't one for mushiness, he still wasn't entirely sure caring as much as he did was a smart move, so she knew how big of a deal it was for him to say those words now. She felt tears prick her eyes; she was pretty sure she was done baking. 

It was about damn time. 

**~~*~~**

“You're worried about Buffy.”

Mycroft resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose when he walked into 221B and was rewarded by his brother's spot-on deducing. He really didn't need this but after not getting an answer at 221C, where Dawn now lived because, as she'd kept insisting, Mrs. Hudson was a manipulative old lady, he'd come upstairs to check if she was with his brother. 

She didn't seem to be. 

“Do you happen to know where Dawn is?” he asked, taking a seat without being asked. Sherlock's blue eyes studied him. 

“With John,” he said finally. “She's been jumping at every little thing all day and it was distracting me. They went to get ice-cream.”

Mycroft nodded; that didn't surprise him. Buffy had told him over the phone that she'd forbidden Dawn from going to Cleveland, the entire continent really, until the new old one was dealt with. She hadn't asked for him to use his own connections to make sure Dawn didn't leave the country in mundane ways but he'd done it anyway. If it had been him and Sherlock in the sisters places, he was fairly certain he'd be just as worried as Dawn—in fact, he had been, on more than one occasion. 

Despite the fact she was more like Sherlock than he, Mycroft felt a certain amount of camaraderie with the girl who had to wait and hope for her siblings safe return. Didn't he have to do so whenever his brother took on another case?

“What is going on?”

“Buffy's company called her in to deal with a situation in the States,” he said after a moment. “Five of her girls have already been killed.”

The fifth had happened as Buffy had been talking to him as she packed. The young slayer had, according to what Buffy had told him through her tears the day before, simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Sherlock didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't ask the questions that should have been pouring out of him. Eyes narrowing, Mycroft locked gazes with his brother.

Sherlock knew something. 

Before he could demand answers, they both heard the sound of the downstairs door being opened. He let the matter drop, not wanting to bring any of this up in front of Dawn, who had to be worried enough as it was. 

Unlike his brother, he knew the values of silence and ignorance. 

John and Dawn appeared in the doorway then. Well, Dawn appeared in the doorway, saw him, and stopped dead. John then ran into her. 

“Dawn, what....Mycroft,” John greeted him.

“Did...is Buffy...” Dawn stuttered. 

“I haven't heard anything,” he assured the white-faced girl. “I was rather hoping you had.”

She shook her head, finally able to get the power to move again as she came inside and flopped down on the floor by Sherlock. John, holding the bags from the store, went into the kitchen to put things away. Glancing over, he felt his lips quirk; that seemed to be an awful lot of ice-cream.

The sudden ringing of Dawn's cell-phone almost made him jump. Dawn did, as she frantically searched her pockets for the device only to have Sherlock reach into her purse, which had been thrown on the table by his chair, and pull it out. Dawn snatched it up and pressed it to her ear. 

“Hello?”

“...What happened?”

“...is she...”

Mycroft watched the emotions play across Dawn's face. He was momentarily distracted by his brother, who was looking past him, at where he could feel John, and making faces at whatever John was miming. Finally, he saw the younger man roll his eyes before placing a hand on Dawn's shoulder. His eyebrows went up almost on their own accord when Dawn's hand reached up and practically crushed Sherlock's fingers with her own. Sherlock winced but didn't pull away. 

Hm. That was an interesting development. He'd have to let Buffy know.

Reminded of his girlfriend, he looked back at Dawn (but not before seeing his brother glare at him). She was breathing more evenly than she'd been, some color coming back into her face, and she was practically sagging against Sherlock's legs in what he hoped was relief. Her eyes were closed but he could see the faint gleam of tears on her lashes. He straightened, heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. 

“Thanks Xan,” she said. “I'll be on the next flight out. Take care of her until we get there.”

She hung up, breathing in deeply for a few minutes before looking up at him. “She was severely injured and is in the hospital,” she told him. “She'll be out of commission for a couple months or so but she'll live.” 

“What aren't you saying?” There was more to it, he could sense it. 

“She lost Chao-Ahn, Caridad, and Megan,” she whispered. He recalled Buffy telling him once that Dawn was friends with all of the girls on her team; they were the ones who played Paintball London with Sherlock. He saw his brothers eyes widen before they shuttered. She looked up at him. “Plus seven of the US girls. It would have been more if Illyria hadn't been there.”

Buffy was going to be devastated. That was one-third her team, the young girls she'd become fiercely protective of. Not to mention, if they'd lost ten slayers, he could only imagine the injuries of the others who'd been there. There were fifteen slayers stationed on the Hellmouth, fourteen had been called in from the surrounding areas, and then team Alpha, which had consisted of Buffy and nine women under her. Thirty nine slayers in total, plus Illyria and Spike, and they still lost ten of the girls. 

He pulled out his phone even as he made a mental note to stock up on the mystical sleeping aids Buffy sometimes used when she had nightmares. “Anthea, I'll need two flights to Cleveland, Ohio for myself and Dawn Summers.”

“There's a flight that leaves in four hours,” she answered promptly as Dawn got up and left for the flat downstairs. John followed her, leaving Sherlock with Mycroft. “You're on it.”

“Good, pick up my suitcase from the townhouse, it's already packed and sitting in the foyer. We'll meet you at Heathrow in an hour,” he said and hung up. One good thing about Anthea, she didn't ask questions, she just did as she was told. 

Without looking at his brother, he made his way downstairs to Dawn's refurbished flat. Buffy, Mrs. Hudson, and Dawn didn't know it, but the lottery ticket Mrs. Hudson found on her stoop had been from him. It wasn't a full-on winner, was in fact just a little bit more than what he knew she'd need to renovate and then rent out 221C, but it was his way of apologizing for what happened with the CIA agents. He hadn't thought Mrs. Hudson would end up renting the flat to Dawn but hadn't entirely been surprised when Buffy told him. Sherlock and he both knew how deceptive Mrs. Hudson's “harmless old lady” look was. She might not have his and Sherlock's brains or ability to deduce, but she was far from stupid. No one who'd survived living with a serial killer for almost thirty years could be. 

“Dawn, you can't just throw things in your suitcase, it won't all fit,” John was saying as he slipped inside the flat. The doctor sounded exasperated. “Give me that!” 

“I don't have time, John, I have to get my stuff and get to the airport!” 

“Fine, you get what you need, throw them on your bed, and _I'll_ pack,” he said and it was obvious from his tone of voice he had had at one point been in the army.

“You're not packing my suitcase!” 

“Yes I am, otherwise you'll miss your flight because you'll be too busy trying to get the damn thing closed!” 

“Hey, get out of my dresser!”

Shaking his head, he turned to where his brother had followed him. “Are they always like this?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered and his lips quirked. He didn't say anything more however so Mycroft let it drop. Just in time, too, as Dawn came storming out of the bedroom and towards the dining room table, which was covered in papers. Mycroft saw Sherlock watching her. “You gave in,” his brother noted blandly.

“He's an unmitigated jackass with power issues!” she snapped back without turning around. 

“And he's right,” Sherlock said and Dawn sulked. 

“Well, I wasn't going to tell him that,” she mumbled and Mycroft felt himself smile at the pout on her face. He would never tell them, but she looked remarkably like Buffy when she did that.

He liked his spleen where it was, thank you.

**~~*~~**

Mycroft detested flying. He liked control, being able to do as he pleased, and up in the air, he was at the mercy of not just the pilot, but the weather and the other passengers. 

Thank God he could afford to fly first class. He'd never go anywhere if he couldn't. 

He also hated hospitals, as it reminded him too much of things he'd rather forget, such as finding Sherlock had overdosed on drugs. Hospitals may be for the best and he had nothing but respect for the majority of the men and women who worked in them, but he'd only go into one for the most extreme reasons. 

Such as Buffy nearly getting gutted by the old-one she'd been fighting. According to what Rupert had told him and Dawn on the flight over (he hadn't been very surprised when they found him at the gate at the airport), Buffy only survived because Faith had broken out of the hospital to help, nearly killing herself in the process. 

To say Rupert was a mite irritated with his senior slayers was an understatement. He'd spent a good portion of the flight coming up with punishments for Faith (and to a lesser extent Buffy), the least and most baffling of which was sending the dark-haired slayer to a nunnery to recover. 

Dawn had laughed until she'd cried at that one so he figured it was an inside joke. 

“Giles!” Mycroft came out of his thoughts as he, Rupert, and Dawn made their way towards the wing the army hospital had set up the injured girls in. They had an agreement with the US government and in times like these, the armed forces became a godsend; there was no way they could send so many teen girls injured like they were to a normal hospital. “Dawnie, thank god.” 

The speaker was a young man Mycroft hadn't met but recognized from Buffy's photo's. Xander Harris, looking haggard. He hadn't shaved, his hair was sticking up every which way, and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and possibly crying. Mycroft deduced he hadn't left the hospital since they'd arrived. 

“Any news?” Dawn asked once Xander let her go. 

“She's awake and bitching,” he replied promptly with a smile. Mycroft felt his heart speed up a bit as he felt a tension he hadn't even notice leave his own body. Dawn was just as relieved. 

“Sounds like her,” she smiled. “Which room?”

“Down the hall,” he directed her and Dawn left, jogging as she peeked into rooms and then disappeared into the one across from the nurses station. 

“How bad are the injuries, Xander?” Rupert asked. “Any updates?”

“Annie pulled through and Icheko woke up about an hour ago,” Xander replied, giving a report of the injuries of the sixteen slayers, four watchers, and two fighters who were injured. Several of them, including the two girls Xander had mentioned, had been worse off than Buffy. “Some of them aren't going back into the field for a while, Giles. Susan nearly lost her leg, it'll take months to heal even with being a slayer.”

Rupert nodded and then turned to him. “Mycroft, go and see Buffy, I'm sure she'll be happy to see you,” he said. “I have to speak to Robin< Xander, and the other surviving watchers.” 

“If you're sure, Rupert?” he asked, voice carefully neutral as Xander's eye widened as he finally realized who Mycrfot was. Rupert gave him a little push. 

“Go see her,” he said smiling.

“Uh, just FYI, Riley's in there with her,” Xander said before Mycroft could take more than a few steps towards Buffy's room. “Him, Sam, and Gray showed up about an hour ago from Washington.”

Mycroft nodded his thanks and headed for Buffy. He wasn't about to leave Buffy alone with her ex, even if he was married, for longer than he absolutely had to. 

She looked like hell, was the first thought that popped into his head as he saw her. Most of her skin was black, blue, purple, and green, bruises in varying stages of healing. Given the time it usually took for such injuries to heal, it told him a lot about how bad they'd originally been. She had cuts and abrasions across most of her face, neck, and arms, and she was holding herself in a way that he knew she had broken ribs.

He'd never understood the saying “seeing red” but as he gazed at the woman he loved (and he could admit that, in his own head), he felt a deep sweltering rage fill his body. She was _his_ damnit, and she'd been hurt. It was only knowing that a, the old-one was dead, and b, he'd get swatted away like a fly that kept him from going after the demon himself. He paused outside the door, forcing his body and mind to calm down.

“...seriously, what is Giles planning for Faith?” Buffy was asking Dawn as she lay in the hospital bed. Dawn was on her one side, another man in army fatigues on the other.

“He threatened to send her to a nunnery to recover,” Dawn replied with a smirk. Buffy burst into hysterical laughter as Mycroft took in the other man. Tall, good-looking, well built, he could see why Buffy had been attracted to the major while in university. He was the epitome of the strong alpha male. 

Despite that, when Buffy finally recovered from her laughing fit, she saw him and her face brightened. “Mycroft!”

“Buffy,” he said, coming inside and silently dismissing the man. Dawn slipped away so he could take her place at Buffy's bedside, since it was obvious Major Finn wasn't going to. He leaned over, hand finding hers, as he kissed her forehead. 

“Mycroft,” she said more softly, looking up at him with a smile. “You didn't have to come.”

“Nonsense,” he said instantly, sitting down on the chair Dawn had vacated. “I intend to remain here with you until you return to England. In fact, I was ordered to.”

“By who, Sherlock?”

“And John and the Queen,” he nodded and he heard Dawn snicker from where she'd dragged another chair into the room. “Her majesty wants hourly updates and she expects to see for herself you're okay when you finally return to London. Something about dinner at Windsor.”

As he'd known they would, Buffy groaned and Dawn burst into giggles. “Just what I need, dinner with the queen, _again_ ,” she complained. “Wasn't one embarrassing dinner enough?” 

“Apparently not,” he smiled. There was a sudden cough from the direction of the army major and Mycroft gave him a bored look as Buffy made a face. 

“By the way, Major Riley Finn, this is Sir Mycroft Holmes, my boyfriend,” Buffy introduced them. She turned to him, obviously pretending not to see the major's stunned expression. “Riley, Sam, and Gray came to help but were a _little_ late to the game.”

“If someone had actually told us sooner than ten minutes to battle, we wouldn't have been late,” Riley said, sounding aggravated. “Do you know how hard it is to mobilize a dozen soldiers who were willing to go AWOL when they heard you were in need of reinforcements?”

“I called you as a backup plan in case we failed, which is why I waited until ten minutes,” Buffy replied back as she took Mycrofts' hand in hers. “So no, I really don't care about your headache.”

Mycroft smiled as the major grumbled and the two started arguing about the benefits of having an entire platoon at her beck and call and how she needed to just accept that they wanted to help and didn't have ulterior motives. Listening to them speak to each other, Mycroft came the conclusion that though they still cared for one another, it was less lost love and more comrade in arms. 

When Buffy caught his eye halfway through the argument, when Finn had become somewhat distracted by his wife coming in, she smiled and winked. He smiled back, settling in the chair and keeping her hand in his. 

He couldn't protect her, wasn't going to even try, and while it annoyed him to no end, it was also the best thing about her in his opinion. 

He'd been looking for the princess for so long. Who knew what he really needed was the lady knight?


	7. Orange Outfits (Bronze Keys)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn's making waffles in Mycroft's kitchen.

It was ten in the morning when Dawn stumbled down to the kitchen. Mycroft, who'd chosen to take a week off to spend time with Buffy as she went through the initial recovery, was sitting at the island and eating a bowl of entirely too unhealthy cereal. He wasn't dressed, was still in his pajamas and dressing gown, and he had to hide a smile at the way Dawn did a double-take at him. She didn't say anything about the lack of a suit (he knew she joked he'd been born in one), but just smiled slightly and started rooting through his icebox. 

“Buffy's getting waffles this morning,” Dawn announced, finding a box of mix he hadn't' even known he had and setting it on the counter. Next came milk, blue-berries, raspberries, (again, both of which he hadn't seen before), and butter. Mycroft said nothing. “She deserves a treat and I haven't made her waffles in ages—you do have a waffle-maker, right? Cause I so don't wanna have to ask John to grab mine and bring it over.”

“Bottom cabinet by the stove,” he replied, watching her disappear between the stove and the island before emerging with the iron. “She likes your waffles?”

“ _Everyone_ likes my waffles,” Dawn corrected as she set the sleek machine down in front of him. She smiled wryly. “Well, they do when I don't add stuff.”

Mycroft, who'd seen her 'add stuff' to perfectly good food before, huffed a small laugh. “So you know how to make normal food then?” he asked as she started going through the drawers, no doubt looking for the utensils. 

Dawn froze and slowly turned around. “Was that a joke?” she asked incredulously, eyes bright. He nodded slightly and she gave him a slow, albeit surprised, grin. “Wow. Hell really has melted over.”

That stopped him. “'Melted over?'” he asked, ignoring the insinuation about his lack of humor. He was used to it. “Isn't the correct phrase 'frozen over?'” 

“Not if you read Dante,” Dawn told him, shaking away the surprise and going back to rooting in his kitchen. Her voice was muffled as she practically crawled into one of the lower cupboards. “According to him, in the ninth circle of hell, Satan is trapped mid-chest by a field of ice as he eats Brutus, Cassius, and Judas. The ice contains sinners and to walk over it, you have to step on their heads. It's kept frozen by the wings on his three chins, which continuously beat to create a cold wind. Hence, melted over.”

Mycroft had never read _Dante's Inferno_ , though he'd obviously heard of it. Something occurred to him. “Does a hell dimension like that exist?”

“I don't know,” Dawn said, turning back to him and looking thoughtful. “Theoretically it makes sense but I never thought to ask the people who've been in one what it was like. Not happy memories.”

Mycroft made a noncommittal humming sound as he took another spoonful of his cereal. 

Having Dawn cooking in his kitchen was...odd, to say the least. Mycroft enjoyed cooking himself, it soothed him, so Buffy had never attempted anything. When Mycroft wasn't cooking, his housekeeper usually was. Bettina was a marvelous woman and once or twice a week she'd come in and make casseroles and the like that he could keep frozen until popping them in the oven. Bettina days, as she called them, were usually the bad days, when he didn't get home until late for some reason or another. 

“Is she awake yet?” Dawn asked him, looking over. “I know the mystical stuff Willow gave her always konks her out.”

“She wasn't when I left the room,” he said. Buffy had considered going back to her flat in the Council apartment building but Mycroft had convinced her it would be quieter at his place and she wouldn't be tempted to help out the other girls if she wasn't near them. He'd offered to put her in the guest room, so she wouldn't have to worry about him jostling her injuries in sleep, but she'd rather firmly put her foot down that she wanted “Mycroft Snuggles” and he hadn't been about to say no, even with her sister on the second floor. 

Dawn had been calling Buffy off and on the entire day before, worried and fretting, and so her appearance on his stoop last night, bag in hand, hadn't surprised either of them. She didn't know it, but he'd put her in Sherlock's old room, where he'd stayed when he'd been getting (relatively) clean. He thought it oddly appropriate. 

Which reminded him, he had to tell Buffy about the new development between his brother and Dawn and what it could possibly mean. Buffy was convinced John and Sherlock were dating without really knowing they were dating (which he privately suspected was right), but what he'd seen of his brother didn't particularly correlate with that. 

“Are you enjoying living on Baker Street?” he asked casually, chewing the last bit of his cereal. Dawn nodded absently, pulling out the waffle-mix from the box. She coughed as some of it went into the air. 

“Well, it's never boring,” she quipped and he chuckled. She smiled as she started measuring mix. “I do love it though. Mrs. Hudson's a great landlady—anyone who candle all three of our special brand of crazy has to be.”

Mycroft smirked slightly. Oh, what a wonderful opening. “So you spend a lot of time with Sherlock and John?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “I've passed out on their couch a few times,” she agreed. “It gets too quiet downstairs.”

“And Sherlock's not quiet?” he asked, surprised. His brother was rather quiet most of the time... 

“It's a different sort of quiet,” she told him, frowning as she tried explaining. “It's like...silence in the flat but not...being alone.”

Ah, that explained it. “It's less quiet with someone else to be quiet with,” he clarified.

She beamed at him. “Exactly!”

“And Sherlock just allows this?” he asked. Sherlock had always hated it when he'd tried that as children...

“I don't give him much choice,” she admitted sheepishly and he couldn't help but chuckle. “I usually just plop down on the couch, commandeer the coffee table, and go to work. One time it took him an hour to even realize I was in the flat.”

He laughed at that. “Was he experimenting again?” he asked knowingly and she nodded. He shook his head, standing with his now empty bowl. “Has he taken over your kitchen space yet?” If he knew his brother at all, he could only imagine what he'd been doing to Dawn's flat...

“I told him he did or stored anything in my kitchen without clearing it with me first, I'd tell John where he hid his expensive box of condoms,” Dawn replied matter-of-fact. Mycroft stumbled, the bowl crashing neatly but loudly into the sink. He turned to her, ignoring the smirk on her face. 

“Condoms?” he asked and if his voice had gotten slightly high, they both ignored it. 

“John apparently found a really good brand he likes but they're insanely expensive,” she agreed, nodding, and not the least bit perturbed at the topic of discussion. The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused them both to glance over expectantly. Dawn continued, not taking her eyes off the doorway. “So he bought a ginormous box and after John pissed him off, Sherlock hid them. John's still trying to figure out where cause he says sleeping with Nancy just isn't the same and he's not buying new ones when he already has a box.”

“I do not want to know,” Buffy declared as she stepped into the room, hair back in a messy ponytail, no make-up, and dressed in his extra dressing gown, a tank top, and short shorts. She was beautiful. 

“Probably not,” Dawn agreed, eying Buffy a moment before apparently confirming she should be out of bed. She smirked. “In fact, I'm pretty sure Mycroft wished I hadn't told him.”

“Hmm,” he agreed even as he bent down and kissed Buffy lightly. She smiled up at him, eyes still somewhat hooded with sleep, before plopping down on the stool he'd just vacated. He took the other one as Dawn went back to making waffles. Looking between them a moment, Mycroft picked up his coffee cup and hid a smile. If you took away the dressing gown, the sisters were dressed exactly alike, right down to the color of their tops and bottoms. 

“So, basically, you're black-mailing my brother to keep him out of your kitchen?” he asked and she nodded. He lifted his cup to her in a mock toast. “Good on you.”

**~~*~~**

Dawn left around two, saying Mycroft had everything under control. Personally, Mycroft thought the discussion of Sherlock and her kitchen got her worried what he might do in her absence and she wanted to make sure he stayed out. Buffy said it was just her sister not wanting to feel like a third wheel. It might have been a little bit of both. 

Either way, with Dawn gone and the housekeeper with the week off, he and Buffy had the townhouse to themselves and nothing to do. 

They decided to make the most of it. 

**~~*~~**

A few days and one ranting phone call between a furious Dawn and her amused sister later, Mycroft had come to a decision. He'd spent most of the afternoon cooking, Buffy being treated to spa day out of the house as part of her “recovery,” which was code for let's spoil his girlfriend since she usually didn't let him do it too often.

Buffy had been almost glowing when she returned that afternoon, having been pampered in the royal way (her majesty had something to do with that, he was sure). She'd been beautiful as she came down to dinner and had been in good spirits throughout the meal. 

“I have something for you,” he said once they'd finished dessert. She eyed him, leaning back in her chair. “What?”

“Spa day, romantic dinner, and now a gift...what's going on, Mycroft?” she asked. She didn't seem angry or worried, just nervous. He wondered what was going through her head. 

He pulled out the flat box from it had been sitting on the chair next to him, waiting and figuratively burning a hole in his pocket. He slid it across the table, catching what he thought might have been a flash of disappointment. She covered it quickly, picking the box up curiously and sliding the top off. She stared. 

“It's a key.”

“Yes,” he agreed, amused, as she picked it up, turning it over in her hands. 

“To your heart?” she guessed, looking at him with a puzzled smile. 

“And the townhouse,” he replied and her mouth dropped down in an “O” as she got it. He smiled, taking her hand in his as he gently kissed her knuckles.

“Buffy...Will you move in with me?”


	8. Black Reputations (White Amusements)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn's not having a good week....and John's about to inadvertently make it worse.

Dawn had been scrubbing her kitchen when John came in to help her and to store the food he didn't want to leave in the fridge upstairs, lest it disappear into one of Sherlock's experiments. 

Stopping in the kitchen, he watched her for a few seconds. She had her laptop on the dining room table blasting out music as she bopped around the kitchen and scrubbed out the latest of Sherlock's experiments from her counter-top.

He needed to have a talk with his flatmate about using Dawn's kitchen. She really was going to follow through on some of her threats one of these days if he didn't stop. 

His lips quirked as she started singing along with the song, still oblivious to his presence. Or Sherlock's, he noted, as he felt the other man come up behind him and just stand there, observing. He did that a lot. Dawn confused him, though the detective would never, ever admit it. 

_“I dug my key into the side of his  
pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,  
carved my name into his leather seats...  
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,  
slashed a hole in all 4 tires  
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.”_

Startled at the absolute viciousness in her voice as she sang, he considered the lyrics. Damn. Sherlock was right, the bloke she'd been seeing had been cheating. He frowned, anger coursing through him when she suddenly leaned against the counter, valiantly trying to stop what he suspected were tears. He felt Sherlock disappear from his back, heard him head to the staircase heading upstairs. He was glad—Dawn didn't need blunt honesty right now. She'd really liked the arse who'd broken her heart. 

“You gonna say I told you so?” she asked, voice raw, shoulders hunched. He shook his head, putting the bags on the counter she'd just finished attacking. 

“C'mere,” he said, pulling her to him. She went easily enough, laying her head against his wounded shoulder, and it didn't take long for him to feel the tell-tale moistness against his shoulder. He placed a hand against her head, eyes going to ceiling as he mentally wondered how he ended up the shoulder—Clara, Harry, Sarah, Dawn, even Buffy when she and Mycroft had that fight the one time.

“She was a chav,” he heard her mutter petulantly. He resolutely kept his laughter under control; instead, he just smiled at her use of the British slang. It always sounded funny coming from her. “Why are the good ones always interested in the stupid ones?”

He wasn't about to tell her Mark had been no good anyway, or that men like him were attracted to the women they thought could get into bed the easiest. He hadn't exactly been the smartest guy at that age but even he remembered the temptation for the women who had no interest in anything but a quick shag. He'd given in a time or two but it had never really done much for him. 

He stayed that way for several moments before hearing someone come downstairs. Expecting Sherlock, he was surprised when it was Mrs. Hudson. 

“Come here, deary,” the old lady said, taking her form his arms. “I have ice cream in the fridge. Mint chocolate chip.”

“Okay,” Dawn said after a quick glance at him. Mrs. Hudson gave him a smile and then led the woman away. John sighed and quickly put away the food (thank God he and Dawn had an agreement) before heading back upstairs. He found Sherlock waiting impatiently by the door, John's jacket in hand. 

He didn't have to ask what Sherlock had planned, not after what he'd done to the CIA men who'd hurt Mrs. Hudson. Some things just didn't need to be spoken of. 

Like don't mess with the quartet at 221 Baker Street; Sherlock knew how to make it look like an accident.

**~~*~~**

Mark was never spoken of after her ice cream binge with Mrs. Hudson, but Dawn knew something had happened. It was sort of hard to keep her from reading the paper, what with his picture smack dab in the middle of the front page, tied to one of the balconies of St. Peter's, and completely and utterly wasted. 

John was pretty sure Lestrade, who knew Mark had been dating Dawn, suspected they had had something to do with it but had never asked and they'd never tell. 

Shaking his head at the amusement the detective had gotten out of the entire ordeal, John made his way downstairs. He'd actually bought food to cook tonight, instead of his and Dawn's penchant for either eating whatever Mrs. Hudson deigned to hand out or ordering in. Unfortunately, Sherlock was working with spleens at the moment and there was only so much one person could take. 

Cooking at a stove while his flatmate dissected organs a few scant feet away was apparently one of those things. 

_“One, two, three,  
Not only you and me.  
Got 180 degrees and I'm caught inbetween.  
Countin' one, two, three...  
Peter, Paul and Mary.  
Getting down with 3P, everybody loves... Ooh!”_

Dawn was singing again, he realized as he opened the door at the bottom of the staircase. Gone were the moldy walls, yellowing wallpaper, and utterly gross flat he, Sherlock, and Lestrade had found the sneakers in. The walls had been cleaned and scrubbed, painted a simple white with tan accents. Not that you could see them, granted, as one of the first things Dawn had done was call in a friend to put in floor to ceiling bookcases on every available wall. She actually had more books than Sherlock, something he hadn't thought possible until he stepped into what he'd started mentally referring to as the Baker Street Library. 

The only wall that didn't contain books was the one with the fireplace, which had, instead, a flat-screen telly, numerous DVD's, and photos of her family, with the important ones sitting on the mantle above the fire. 

The day before, she'd added two photos, the first of him and Sherlock, with her squeezed in the middle, and the other of Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock had been the one to notice first and John was still trying to figure out what the look on his face had meant. It wasn't one he'd seen before. 

Going around the wall, he stopped, just watching and grinning as he found Dawn in her kitchen, bouncing and dancing in the small area to the music blaring from the stereo Sherlock had found and dumped in her flat. 

_“Three is a charm,  
Two is not the same.  
I don't see the harm,  
So are you game?_

_Let's make a team,  
Make 'em say my name  
Loving the extreme.  
Now, are you game?”_

Grinning, he pulled out his cell phone and lifted it, clicking record. She'd kill him if she ever found out but it was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

It didn't even occur to him what the song was, he was just too amused by Dawn's little show to pay attention to the lyrics. 

The song finished as he sent the video file to Buffy, knowing she would get a kick out of it. The stereo went onto another song and he watched as she turned and saw him. He breathed a sigh of relief that he'd been able to slip his phone into his pocket without her seeing it. 

“John!” She crowed and just past her, he could see the three Starbucks cups she'd apparently had. That explained her pep, then. “Dance with me!” 

“I don't think so,” he balked and she pouted. Just as he felt Sherlock come up behind him, her eyes lit up. 

“No,” Sherlock replied firmly and succinctly, before she could say anything. Dawn drooped, the pout coming back stronger than before. In an attempt to avoid looking at it, he moved past her with his food. 

“You two are absolutely no fun,” she informed them. “The music was turned down and he glanced over to find her hoping up on the counter. She looked between them. “Whatcha doing?”

“He's working with spleens upstairs,” he said, pulling out a pan. Dawn wrinkled her nose but gave no other outward reaction to the information. Not for the first time did he wonder what, exactly, she'd gone through that made her so easy-going to Sherlock's insanity.

Thing was, he was pretty sure Sherlock had an idea and, for some reason, was keeping it quiet instead of blurting it all out for the world to hear. 

“What are you looking at spleens for?” Dawn asked, honestly curious. _One day,_ he thought wryly to himself as Sherlock launched into a detailed explanation of the experiment, _he'd find mates who didn't have odd fixations and weird hobbies._

**~~*~~**

Buffy had been in the middle of unpacking yet another box in the townhouse when her phone beeped at her. Deciding to take a break, she pulled the phone out, smiling when she saw it was from John, a video message. She clicked open. 

And then nearly passed out from laughter. 

Once she got herself back under control, she pulled open her contacts list and started forwarding the video. Giles, Willow, Xander, Faith, Spike, one by one everyone in Dawn's immediate family had a copy. 

It wasn't until she was showing it to Mycroft when he got home that afternoon that the lyrics finally caught her attention and she doubled over again. 

_Oh, Dawnie,_ she thought as she wiped tears from her eyes. _How I adore your subconscious._


	9. Red Annoyance (Brown Shock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to get away from the aggravation that was John in denial, Dawn finds herself besieged by Sherlock's curiosity instead.

It was all John's fault, she later decided, once she was padlocked in her flat downstairs and away from the boys and the discussion she didn't want to have. He was the one who, when she made one innocent little comment, got angry and almost shouted that he was not in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes. 

“Seriously, John, who are you trying to kid?” Dawn asked, exasperated. Really, he could be really freaking oblivious sometimes and she was getting tired of him denying it. “You live together, you work together, you have dinner out all the time, you have your inside jokes, and you talk without talking—the only people in the world who don't know you're dating without the good bits are you and him!” 

She ended the declaration by throwing her hands up in the air and stomping from the room. Unfortunately, since she was stomping _away_ from the stairs, through the kitchen, she ended up in Sherlock's bedroom.

It wasn't until after she slammed the door that she realized the detective actually was in the house. It had been so quiet she had assumed he'd gone out. 

She groaned, slapping a hand to her face when he peered up at her sleepily from between his comforter and his pillow. Luckily, when she peeked between her fingers, he was studying her with a look on his face that seemed to say “I think I should be amused,” so she hoped she hadn't woken him up with the slamming of his door. 

“The good bits?” he finally asked, voice rough. She squeaked. He smirked and something in Dawn snapped, just like it had with John. She was really going to have to do something about that. 

“Yes, the good bits,” she retorted angrily, pacing from his wardrobe, to the door, and back again. “The parts that truly make a relationship, even one as unconventional as yours, work out. He'd follow you into Hell, Sherlock—we both would—but that doesn't make what you have so bloody amazing! What makes it amazing is that, whether or not you want to accept it, you're better because of him. And he's better because of you.”

“Hm,” he rumbled again, throwing back his covers and sliding to his feet with a fluidness that distracted Dawn long enough to not recognize the danger. “You'd follow me into hell?”

She stared at him, mouth opened slightly, before she was able to pull herself together. “I'd want a coat,” she finally said, hoping he'd be distracted trying to figure that out that he'd forget what she'd initially said. It didn't look like it'd worked. Damn. 

“And sex has nothing to do with the good bits?” he asked, arms at his side, an odd look on his face. Dawn flushed. 

“No!” she almost shouted and then caught herself. “I mean, it shouldn't but...oh God.”

She groaned and buried her face into her hands. Was she really talking sex with Sherlock? Seriously?

“Yes,” Sherlock answered her unspoken question and she peeked over at him when she heard some shuffling. Sherlock was sitting back down on his bed, staring at her. 

“What?”

“How does a physical relationship play into a relationship?” he asked. He crossed his arms. “What benefit could it possibly have in bringing me and John closer together?”

“Uh...” she was frantically trying to find a way out of this conversation but nothing (and no one) was coming to her rescue. Damnit, why did she have to storm in here? This was all John's fault!

“The result of such acts is nothing more than a chemical reaction,” he continued, either oblivious to the way her face was heating up or ignoring it (she suspected the latter). “How does that have any bearing on a relationship between two people?”

“Can we NOT talk about this?” she asked. Well, pleaded. His eyes narrowed. 

“Why not?”

“Because!” 

“Because why?” he demanded, looking more irritated than curious now. Good, maybe if she got him irritated enough he'd kick her out. She could deal with John if it meant avoiding this conversation.

“Because I'm not comfortable with the topic!” 

“You're not comfortable with sex?”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean...”

“You either are or you're not,” Sherlock said flatly. “It's not too difficult a decision.”

“I like sex, okay!” she finally shouted and then slapped a hand over her mouth in horror. That had been entirely too loud, if the sudden crash outside the bedroom was any indication. 

“Alright,” Sherlock said, lips twitching in amusement as they could hear John cursing a blue streak in the living room. “Then why don't you want to talk to me about this?”

“Because!” 

“Are we on that again?” he asked disdainfully and she took in a deep breath. If she didn't calm down and explain, this could go on entirely too long. She thought she could hear footsteps but when Sherlock didn't give any motion of hearing it as well, she decided it was her imagination. 

“Alright, Sherlock, I don't want to talk about this with you because it makes me uncomfortable,” she said as calmly as she could. He opened his mouth and she held up a hand. “Not that sex … itself … makes me uncomfortable, just talking about it with you does.”

“Why?”

Dawn's head dropped her to her chest as her hands came up to rub at her temples. “Because...oh hell, what was the question again?”

She wasn't getting out of this conversation, that much was clear. Better just get on with it.

She mentally grimaced. Bad choice of phrase.

“What does a chemical reaction have to do with the relationship between two people?” he asked. 

“It's not so much the chemicals as it's the intimacy associated with sex,” she told him. He frowned and she sighed. “Sherlock, you trust John, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what do you think is the most intimate act of trust someone can engage in?” she asked. She glared. “And do not say fighting crime.”

“You're saying the act of sex is really an act of trust between two people,” he clarified, frowning. 

“For most people, yes,” she agreed wearily. She was SO getting Mycroft to buy her chocolate, the expensive kind. Then again, she'd have to tell him _why_ he was buying her chocolate and that just wouldn't do. She focused on Sherlock. “You're trusting someone with your body. It's something that can easily get turned around and hurt you if in the wrong hands. Just because you ignore your body most of the time doesn't mean its not as important as your mind palace.”

“My mind palace is infinitely--” he began but she cut him off. 

“Your mind palace needs a foundation, Sherlock, and that's your body,” she informed him. “Even the Great Pyramids needed a solid foundation to stay upright.”

He clearly wanted to argue that point but was more interested in the discussion of sex. Damn. 

“So if I were to engage in sex with someone, it would be an act of trust?” he asked. She frowned, sure she'd heard choking from the door. She ignored it when Sherlock didn't take his eyes off her. 

“In a way,” she agreed. “Sex with anyone is a sign of trust—but sex, kissing, the whole enchilada, with someone you care about, is a whole other kettle of fish.”

“Why?”

Dawn took in a deep breath, not wanting to have to explain to John why his boyfriend was strangled. 

It was weird, she knew, how uncomfortable she was discussing this with Sherlock. Normally she had no problem with open discussions of sex (thank you Anya!) but for some reason, discussing it with her neighbor made her fidgety. The only way this could be worse, she suspected, was if John were in the room. 

“It just is, Sherlock,” she told him. “It's a societal normality that those who don't have a mind palace have to deal with.”

“You think I cannot make that kind of connection?” he asked, looking annoyed. 

“I didn't say—oomph!” 

Dawn fell back on her ass, caught off guard as Sherlock's mouth crashed into hers. She was so surprised she wasn't able to respond much, just pretty much let him do what he wanted before he pulled away, eyes wide and calculating as he stared at her. 

She swallowed and then asked the first thing that came to mind. 

“Where the hell did you learn to kiss?!” 

And that was when the door apparently decided it had had enough and crashed down inside the room, John sprawled on top of it. He stared at them like a stunned bunny as Dawn stared back, one thought flickering through her head on repeat. 

_Buffy's never going to let me hear the end of this._


	10. Green Eyes (Blue Silk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy spends time to Dawn and discovers a few things.

“Hey, what about this one?” Dawn asked, looking over and twirling in a circle. Buffy eyed the dress she was wearing critically, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like their mum saying it was too short. A bit low-cut and shorter than Dawn usually went for, it showed off her sister's long legs as well as highlighted her neck, thus drawing more attention to her cleavage.

“Nice,” she said. “What do you need it for?”

“I'm going out with Vi when she gets in town,” she replied. “She wants to check out the London club scene. I'm taking her to Koko's.”

“Is it just going to be you and Vi?” Buffy asked, straightening in the chair she'd been lounging in. She wasn't keen on that, especially after the last time. 

“No,” Dawn made a face. “Rona, Natalie, and Rachel are coming with. I know better than to go out to a club alone, Buf.”

She nodded, leaning back in the chair again. Besides the demonic threats who'd happily try to get to Buffy through her sister, they'd found out about a month before Buffy had met Mycroft that human threats should be taken just as seriously. Leaving a drink alone at a table while you went to dance was not a good idea. If it hadn't been for Drusilla passing Dawn and the guy who'd roofied her in the street, Dawn could have been much worse off than just drugged. The vampire seer had recognized the brunette as Spike's Niblet and had then killed the guy in full view of a police officer, who'd lost her when he gave chase. 

Buffy still wasn't sure what she was going to do if they ever found the crazy vamp again. On one hand, evil. On the other....she'd saved Dawn because Spike loved her. 

“What about shoes?” Buffy asked, shaking away her thoughts. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. “Are you going for new ones or old ones?”

“I'm thinking new,” she said and then hesitated. “Buf?”

“You want me to help choose your shoes?” she asked, perking up. “I can do that!”

“Actually....” her sister hesitated again before pushing back her shoulders and staring defiantly at Buffy. “Mycroft owes me. Think you could use that shiny card he gave you to buy this and the shoes?”

Buffy's eyes narrowed. “How does Mycroft owe you?” she asked skeptically. Dawn wasn't looking at her. “Dawnie...what happened?”

“I...it was all John's fault!” she blurted out. 

“If its John's fault, why does Mycroft owe you?” she pressed. 

“Because if Mycroft had actually had the sex talk with Sherlock himself, I wouldn't have had to do it!” she replied heatedly. Her mouth snapped closed, cheeks heating up, as she turned away. 

Buffy, on the other hand, could only gape. “The what?!” she finally choked out, thankful they were the only ones in this section of the store. 

“I told John that he was dating Sherlock without the good bits, whether or not he wanted to admit it,” Dawn replied miserably, sitting down and not looking at her. “Sherlock then pretty much forced me to try and explain why sex is a component of normal romantic relationships. He honestly didn't know and that, at least, is all Mycroft's fault. He's Sherlock's older brother, you think he'd have fixed that by now.”

Buffy honestly didn't know what to say to that. On one hand, she couldn't see Mycroft actually discussing sex with Sherlock at all (hell, mom and her had both been beyond relieved—and horrified—to discover Anya had ended up giving Dawn The Talk; she couldn't imagine what it would have been like to do it themselves). On the other...the mere fact Dawn, who was probably half in love with Sherlock and John, having to explain it to the detective just...she resisted the urge to burst into giggles.

Instead, she took in a few deep breaths and pulled out her cell, firing off a text to her boyfriend before motioning at Dawn to go back into the dressing room. 

“Alright, let's go get you some shoes,” she said, all business. Dawn looked up confused, no doubt expecting a lot more teasing. And make no bones about it, Buffy was going to get _miles_ out of this little story. Just not right now. Not when Dawn was still so embarrassed and uncomfortable. 

Once the three of them got their act together and figured things out, well...

That was another matter entirely.

Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have way much more on her sister anyway. “So, what's this about you dancing in your kitchen to Britney Spears?” she asked once Dawn was in the dressing room. She heard a minor crash from inside and grinned. “I hear you do a mean booty-shake.”

“I do not!” Dawn exclaimed. “Who told you that?!” 

“John,” she replied, watching the shadows under the door stumble. 

“I'm going to kill him!” she heard her sister swear under her breath before she came back out with the dress over her arm and trying not to show embarrassment or anger. She stared at Buffy firmly. Or as firmly as one who was blushing could. “And you can't prove it; it's his word against mine.”

“No,” Buffy said smirking. “It's your word against John's video phone.”

“WHAT?!”

 **~~*~~**

Mycroft was going through files in his office when his phone beeped at him. He pulled it out, smiling when he saw it was from Buffy. 

_Gonna buy Dawn a dress and shoes with the card cuz Sherlock waylaid her. Will explain what happened when I get home. xoxo B_

_That's fine, buy her what she'd like. MH_

Even as he answered Buffy, he couldn't help but frown, curious about what his brother had done that had gotten to Dawn. Very little, so far, had phased her so it must have been monumental. He wondered if John knew...

_Any idea what happened between Sherlock and Dawn? MH._

It didn't take very long for him to get a reply and when it did, it did nothing to curb his curiosity. 

_Trust me, you don't want to know._

**~~*~~**

Stopping at Baker Street, Buffy decided to be nice and help her sister take her bags and things down stairs (they may have gone slightly overboard in the shopping for Dawnie—Mycroft really shouldn't have said to buy her what she wanted). It had nothing whatsoever to do with Sherlock and Dawn and The Talk. 

Promise. 

“Bloody hell, Sherlock do you even hear yourself?!” John was yelling when they got inside. In front of her, Dawn tensed before pulling back her shoulders and moving forward, past the stairs upstairs and towards her own door. “You kissed her!” 

Buffy's jaw dropped as she skidded to a stop just in front of the fireplace in the foyer. Dawn faltered slightly but continued into her flat. Buffy watched, eyes wide, as her sister fumbled with her door before fleeing downstairs.

Holy. Shit. 

“It wasn't...She said I couldn't make connections of the kind she was referring,” Sherlock's voice floated back down. He had to know they'd come in, even if John hadn't heard them; Sherlock's hearing was almost superhuman, which was something she'd discovered the hard way. It was wiggy. “I was merely testing her theory.”

“By kissing her?!” 

“Yes, John, do keep up,” Sherlock said, sounding impatient. 

“Wait a minute,” John said and there was a thump of what Buffy was pretty sure was John flopping down into a chair. “Dawn's theory, as you called it, was that kissing and...sex...between people who care about each other is more intense and means more than between people who don't.”

“...Yes...”

“Then that means you care about Dawn.”

“John, we hung up her ex-boyfriend from St. Paul's in his underwear, after getting him drunk,” Sherlock said flatly and Buffy almost fell over in surprise. She'd honestly thought that had been Spike, who'd been in town when Dawn found out about Mark's cheating. “Really, I think the fact she means something would be obvious by now. I do not suffer fools.”

John didn't seem to have anything to say to that and Buffy's hearing caught something. She looked over, seeing Dawn standing in the doorway of her flat and staring up at the ceiling with an odd expression. Past her, Buffy could see Mrs. Hudson peering out of her own flat, a bright smile on her face as the lady caught her eye. Buffy couldn't help but smile back, shaking her head in amusement. 

“That's not the point, Sherlock,” John finally said and Buffy sharpened her hearing. “You kissed her.”

“Yes.”

“You kissed Dawn.” She wondered if he realized just how jealous he sounded. Somehow, she doubted it.

“Yes.”

“Sherlock...have you ever kissed anyone beyond her?”

Sherlock was suspiciously silent and it was only because of her slayer hearing she heard Sherlock's next words; from Dawn's expression, she hadn't caught it. 

“I've only wanted to once before.”

John wasn't about to let that go. “When?”

Sherlock was silent and Buffy had a feeling that would be something the detective would not be answering. She didn't blame him, as she suspected the other time had probably been with John. 

Buffy decided it was time to stop listening in and moved forward, calling out loudly, “Dawn, help me with these bags!”

Dawn came forward silently, face pale and confused, to take the bags from Buffy's hands. There was some sounds from upstairs, most likely John moving. His head appeared at the top of the stairs, staring down as Buffy poked her head to look up. “Hi John!” she chirped brightly, an innocent smile on her face. “Sherlock up there?”

“Yes,” he answered. He looked past her, at where Dawn was disappearing back inside her flat. He frowned. 

“Hi, Sherlock!” Buffy called, internally smirking at the whole thing. “Call Mycroft!” 

She always told him that when she saw him or ran into him; she'd taken it upon herself to try and get the brothers to at least talk more. So far, it didn't seem to be working very well. Sherlock didn't answer, not that she'd expected him to. 

“Ma'am?” a voice said and Buffy looked over at where the driver was standing in the doorway. “If you're ready?”

“Yeah, give me a minute,” she said and he nodded, heading back to the car. One good thing about Mycroft's insistence that she use his car service, no worrying about keeping a cabbie waiting.

She quickly bounded downstairs and said goodbye to Dawn, giving her a look that said they'd be discussing what they'd overheard later. Dawn grimaced but she seemed too lost in thought for much else. Buffy smirked slightly and headed out. 

“Bye Baker Street!” she called and closed the door behind her. 

**~~*~~**

“So he kissed her?” Mycroft asked that evening as he got ready for bed. She'd already showered and gone through her own routine by the time he'd returned home. She'd been in bed, reading _The Hunger Games_ , the book her teammate Heather was so obsessed with. As he'd gone through his routine, having eaten at the office and just wanting to crash into bed, Buffy had related what Dawn had told her and what she'd overheard. 

“He said it was to test Dawn's theory but honestly, I think he was lying,” she agreed. She watched, lips curving into a grin, as he came out of the bathroom, dressed in his pajamas. She knew some wondered what she saw in him physically—he wasn't the typical jock type she'd dated before—but he had a pretty good body for a desk-jocky. 

And she wasn't about to get into the physical side of their relationship—he was much more dexterous and strong than one would immediately suspect. 

“I mean, don't get me wrong,” she said as he slipped into bed beside her. “I can see him doing that but the tone of his voice...he wasn't being completely honest.”

She waited until he'd settled before cuddling into his side. He let out a sigh, wrapping an arm under her back and pulling her closer to him. Settling her head on his chest, she played with his shirt buttons, enjoying the way his chest rumbled as he spoke. 

“I don't doubt that,” he agreed. “Perhaps it's for the best.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, craning her head to look up at him. He smiled down at her. 

“No one person would be able to handle my brother alone,” he said mildly. “Between the three of them, perhaps they'll finally settle down.” 

“Woudl you be okay with that?” she asked, studying him. “Sherlock in a threesome?”

“If it made Sherlock happy, then yes,” he said. “Why? Are you okay for it for Dawn?”

Buffy hesitated. She'd actually been thinking about it for a while and while she was sure where she stood, it wasn't the norm. And she did have concerns. “They're both older than her, John moreso,” she admitted. “She's happy, I get that, and you're right, that's all that matters. But I can't help but worry about...”

“The age difference causing problems,” he nodded. “A valid concern.” 

“But Dawn's always been more mature than others her age,” she said, grimacing. “Comes with growing up as my little sister, I guess.”

“I think they're good for each other, they make each other happy,” Mycroft finally said after a moment of silence. He leaned down and kissed her lightly. “And really, isn't that all that matters?”

“Mmmm,” she agreed, pushing herself up a little to kiss him back, much less chastely. He groaned, hands tightening on her waist. “Good point. Now, lets not talk about our siblings, what do you think?”

And Dawn, Sherlock, and John were forgotten the rest of the night.


	11. Flesh Thoughts (White Realizations)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to a realization.

John was working on his blog and trying to get the mental images of Sherlock and Dawn out of his head, just as he had been for the past week and a half. 

It wasn't working. 

Fancy that. 

It wasn't the idea of them being attracted to each other that was distracting him—he'd actually joked about it with Lestrade once. Dawn was intelligent, easy-going, wasn't put off by Sherlock's … issues, wasn't phased by his tendency toward human experimentation, and she honestly enjoyed Sherlock's company. She was what John had once considered the perfect partner for the detective. The only reason he hadn't thought anything would actually happen between them was A, he hadn't been entirely convince Sherlock wasn't asexual and B, if he wasn't asexual, his comment the first time they went to Angelo's had indicated he wasn't attracted to women. 

_“Girlfriend? No, not really my area.”_

He remembered that like it was yesterday. The way Sherlock had said it, so distracted by waiting for the cabbie, John's worry about being an arse and fucking up the entire conversation... Though thinking about it now and considering the bit about being married to his work, John supposed Sherlock might have meant dating as a whole and not women in general. 

He'd certainly seemed distracted enough with Irene, after all.

He stopped typing and thought about that for a moment. 

Irene had been, there was no other word for it, fascinating to Sherlock. The way her mind worked, her ability to completely confuse him, her use of her sex as a shield, the fact she was able to, even temporarily, deceive him—it spoke volumes. It wasn't a physical attraction, no. But a mental attraction...yeah, he could see that. 

So Sherlock was capable of attraction. Was, in fact, just as susceptible to such things as the “lowly humans” he was surrounded by day in and day out. 

Which meant it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he was attracted to Dawn. 

That he might, if given the opportunity, take advantage and kiss her. Which Dawn had given him. The opportunity, that is. Her insinuation that his massive intellect meant he wasn't as likely to have the same reaction to a kiss as Dawn or John had been all the incentive Sherlock would have needed. It gave him an excuse to kiss her without her knowing he was attracted, allowed him to take advantage without making things awkward. 

In theory, at least. In practice, it obviously had not turned out quite like Sherlock had expected. 

For one thing, Dawn was now avoiding them. John had only seen her once since she'd fled from Sherlock's bedroom and that had been just in passing. He'd seen more of _Buffy_ the last week or so than he'd seen of Dawn. 

For another, Sherlock had been almost distracted since it'd happened. Not even a case via Lestrade had been able to keep him from thinking about the kiss, as more than once John had had to snap Sherlock out of his head. Needless to say, the detective inspector had been practically panting to know what had put Sherlock into this sort of behavior.

John hadn't told him. It wasn't any of Lestrade's business and he had a feeling he'd give too much away if he had to explain what he'd heard and seen. 

Which brought him right back to what he'd been trying to avoid picturing. 

Sherlock and Dawn. Together. 

He shifted in his chair, glad he had the flat to himself, Mycroft having kidnapped his brother for the afternoon. He didn't want to explain to Sherlock just why he was getting hard in his trousers, sitting at the table in front of his laptop, with no porn on the screen. 

He wasn't going to tell him he was imagining Sherlock and Dawn together. Not just kissing, either, but doing things he had no right to imagine them doing together. They were his friends, for christ-sake!

It wasn't the first time it had happened. Even before the kissing, he'd occasionally wake up in bed, hard in his pajama's, and come off to fantasies of Dawn, even Sherlock a few times. He'd tried to avoid it at all possible, Dawn was entirely too young and Sherlock was a bloke and his flatmate, but it was no use. After the whole sex-talk, kissing debacle, it was getting harder and harder not to admit to himself that he was attracted to them. 

He slumped suddenly in his chair, eyes hooded as he stared at his laptop. 

He'd finally thought it. It might have been in passing, but he'd finally admitted it. 

He was attracted to Sherlock and Dawn. 

“Fuck.”

**~~*~~**

In an act of extreme self-denial he hadn't previously thought he was capable of, it took him another few days to confirm that yes, he _was_ attracted to them both. In the end, after running around in a circle of mental arguments with himself, he'd decided to take a vaguely Sherlock approach to confirming it—he experimented. 

Fantasies of Dawn with a nameless man always culminated with the other man being either himself or Sherlock. Fantasies of Sherlock with a nameless man always ended up with him in the picture, sometimes with Dawn watching. He even tried imagining Sherlock with Irene, who he actually had seen naked before, but it hadn't done a damn thing—until Irene suddenly became Dawn. 

The fantasy of the three of them together, however, was what really sealed the deal. He hadn't had an orgasm that hard in _years_. 

So, physical attraction: Check.

That just left if it was a physical reaction or something deeper. 

Which, almost as soon as he thought it, he knew was one of the more stupider questions he'd ever asked himself. 

Flopping back on his bed and having taken a shower to clean up his mess, he tried thinking of his next move. 

Nothing was coming to mind.


	12. Primary Discussions (Secondary Threats)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy is fed up with Dawn's issues so calls on the family for a meeting...

“This is starting to get ridiculous,” Buffy mumbled as she and Mycroft walked into the town house after a semi-enjoyable dinner with Giles and Dawn, the latter of whom was miserable. She hadn't even gotten excited talking about her latest translation project, for Sineya's sake!

“She does seem to miss the two of them,” Mycroft agreed, not needing to ask who Buffy was talking about. 

“But she's being a stubborn idiot,” Buffy groaned, throwing her purse on the kitchen table. 

“I wonder where she got _that_ from?” she heard Mycroft mutter but decided to ignore him—mostly because she knew he had a point. She'd been a horrible influence on her younger sister. 

“Alright, that's it, something has to be done,” she decided abruptly. She'd passed on a lot of bad traits to Dawnie over the years, but she'd die (again) before she let her keep herself from what could be the best thing that had ever happened to her. Buffy had done that once before, and while she and Xander were friends and siblings now, part of her would always wonder what might have happened if she'd given the carpenter the chance to woo her back in Sunnydale. 

Point was, if things continued the way they were going, Dawnie was never going to get that chance with Sherlock and John and that just wasn't okay. Buffy was finally happy. Her sister should be too. 

**~~*~~**

“Alright, Buffy, why'd you call us here?” Xander asked once they'd all gathered around the table in her and Mycroft's house. Mycroft himself had been hesitant about having this meeting in the townhouse, but Buffy had pointed out that this was the most secure place outside the council HQ and no way was she having this conversation there—way too many super-hearing people lived in the HQ.

“Yeah, you said it was a non-supernatural emergency,” Willow said. She paused and a hesitant look came upon her face. “Are you pregnant?”

“What? No!” Buffy said, exasperated. “Why does everyone keep asking that?” 

Faith had asked the same thing when she'd called her in Cleveland. Since the other senior slayer wouldn't be able to be there, Buffy wanted her input before she talked to the rest of the gang. They'd ended up spending close to half an hour on the issue of Buffy getting pregnant, what it would mean, if slayer even _could_ get pregnant (Faith and Robin had been trying for months now), and what Buffy would do if she was. 

“Okay, so...did he propose?” Xander asked, eyes lighting up. “Cause, you know, I'm all for that!” 

To almost everyone's surprise, Xander actually liked Mycroft, thought he was good for Buffy. Willow still seemed to be reserving judgment and Buffy knew the less Giles had to think of her with his old friend the better it was for him. As for the others, Faith thought he was too uptight but supported Buffy; Andrew and Mycroft did not get along for various reasons; and Robin, while he wasn't sure the relationship would last, liked him. Riley and Graham (once they'd gotten over the surprise) had come to the same opinion as Xander. 

To no one's surprise, Spike and Angel didn't approve. Spike, at least, had cited a fairly good reason (Mycroft _was_ , technically, a government man and the vampire didn't trust ANYONE in the military or government). Angel, on the other hand, was simply being petulant. Buffy had the feeling he had been of the opinion that once she was done baking, she'd turn to him. When she hadn't...well, he wasn't taking it well and Buffy was thoroughly sick of it. 

She glanced at Spike out of the corner of her eye, seeing him make a face at the very idea that Mycroft had proposed. She'd invited him because she knew if she hadn't, and he found out later, he'd be pissed. He considered Dawn his as much as she did. In some ways, the two of them had been the ones to raise Dawn. Buffy suspected Spike had actually harbored more fatherly, than brotherly, feelings for the tall brunette. It made sense that he wouldn't tell them, they looked the same age, but it was still there, unspoken. 

He'd certainly had a great time sword-sparring with Xander on the front lawn when Dawn's first date came to pick her up for their evening out.

“No, he didn't propose, this has nothing to do with me,” she said, looking around the table. Giles had begged off, but Xander, Willow, Kennedy, Spike, and Vi (who had gotten in that morning) were all there. “It's about Dawn.”

“She okay?” Spike demanded, straightening his seat. She smiled reassuringly at him. 

“She's just freaking out,” she explained, shaking her head. 

“About what?” Willow asked, concerned. “Did something happen?”

And this was where Buffy hesitated. She knew how she and Mycroft felt about this and she had a feeling she knew where Spike would fall (once he got over the idea of Dawnie being in love again), but the other four...they were the odd-balls. She honestly didn't know how they'd react to the idea of a threesome. 

“So...you know she moved into Baker Street, right?” she asked and they all nodded. 

“I still haven't seen it, but I want to,” Xander agreed. “It's a flat in an old house, right?” 

“Yeah, basically,” Buffy agreed. “221 Baker Street got turned into three flats. Mrs. Hudson's the landlady, she owns the place, and her flats on the ground floor. Dawn's is in the basement, and then there are two men on the second and third floor—Sherlock and John.” 

Mostly this was said to explain it to the three women, as she wasn't sure how much they knew. 

“Dawn loves it there,” Vi said. “She says its never boring.” 

Buffy and Spike both snorted. “Not surprising,” Spike agreed. “Sherlock's a consulting detective and he likes experimenting on human body parts to determine alibi's and whatnot.” 

“How'd you know that?” Buffy asked, surprised. She was pretty sure Dawn would never mention that to Spike—from their expressions, she certainly hadn't to Willow, Xander, or Kennedy—so how could Spike have known?

“I broke in,” he shrugged and Buffy gave him an exasperated look. “What? I had to make sure the blokes weren't mass murderers, dinna I?”

“And the body parts didn't freak you out?” Xander demanded. Buffy could see his point—if you hadn't known Sherlock and found those...

“I got caught,” Spike shrugged again, unrepentent. “John came home. Recognized me from Dawn's photos. Smart man, figured out what I was doing, said he'd done it himself once with one of his sisters exes. He explained Sherlock to me.”

“Ah,” Buffy said. That made sense. “And what did you think of John?”

“Nice bloke, even if he's making a home on the Nile.” He rolled his eyes and Buffy snickered. “Seriously, he kept insisting he and Sherlock weren't dating but I can tell when someone's ignoring attraction and him? Whole heaps of it.” 

He tapped his nose for emphasis and Buffy couldn't help but laugh. Some days she really hated his and Angel's penchant for using their enhanced senses on people, but at times like these? She loved it. It made things so much simpler. 

“So what's this all have to do with Dawnie?” Willow asked, frowning. Next to her, Kennedy shifted, obviously bored.

“She's attracted to them,” Vi said and Buffy froze, looking at the younger redhead in surprise. She was glaring at Buffy. “That's why you called us here, isn't it? To figure out how to break up Dawn's relationship with them?” 

Two things occurred to Buffy in quick succession—one, Vi knew exactly what was going on with Dawn and two, she thought Buffy didn't approve. Well, that wouldn't do.

“Okay, one, no assumptions,” she said, wagging a finger in Vi's face. She huffed but Buffy pushed forward. “I didn't call you here to break them up, I called you here cause Dawn's finally realized she was falling for them and she's freaking out. It's driving me nuts. I want it resolved.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Xander said, waving his hands in the air and looking stunned. “You mean...both of them? With Dawnie?” 

“A threesome,” Kennedy said and she didn't look bored anymore. “Hm. Way to go Summers.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. Some days, she thought Kennedy took after Faith a little bit too much. 

“You can't be serious!” Xander exclaimed, ignoring the younger slayer in favor of staring at Buffy as if she'd lost her mind. “You want us to actually get her together with both of them?!” 

“You really wanna try that?” Spike asked lowly, eyes narrowed on the other man. “You wanna say Dawn feeling that way for two blokes at the same time is a bad thing? After everything?”

“After everything what?!” Xander demanded, angry. “I've never been in a threesome!” 

“But you did date a vengeance demon,” Kennedy pointed out. 

“And, not to be blunt,” Vi said in a tone that said the exact opposite, “but which is more natural? Demonic-human duo or or a fully human threesome?”

Xander's mouth opened and closed several times, his skin flushing red, as he stared at the two of them. Apparently he didn't have a comeback to that. Buffy ignored it, more interested in why Willow was being so quiet. 

“Willow?” she asked, looking over at the redhead looking down at the table-top. “What do you think?”

The wicca didn't say anything for a moment and Buffy started to get a sinking feeling in her stomach. Xander's reaction wasn't much of a surprise, for all his past relationships he had a disturbingly vanilla mindset in regards to the women in his life, but Buffy had been hoping Willow would be more open-minded.

Finally, she looked up. She didn't look comfortable. 

“I really shouldn't say anything, because you know, gay,” she said, glancing at Kennedy a moment. “I know better than anyone how you can't control who you love.”

“But...?”

“But are you sure about this, Buffy?” she asked, frowning. “I mean, are you sure its not just lust or something? Maybe...a--a kink?”

Xander's sudden sputtering was ignored. As was the sound of someone, Buffy wasn't sure who, kicking him under the table. 

“I am,” Buffy told her honestly. “Dawn loves them. She might not have made the leap to love in her mind yet but...she's my sister. I can tell.” 

“She knows she has feelings for them,” Vi put forth. “We've talked about it a bunch of times over the phone. She just...didn't know what to do about it. I don't think the idea of a threesome has quite worked its way into her thinking yet. At least, it hadn't last time we talked and that was a month ago.”

“Buffy, you can't be serious!” Xander argued again. “Threesomes don't work!” 

“Actually, historically, polygamy was more common than monogamy in certain parts of the world,” Willow said and Buffy's lips quirked at the severe look she was giving her best friend.

“Willow you just said you agreed with me!” 

“I said no such thing!” Willow exclaimed. “I wanted to know if Dawn wasn't mistaking lust for love! I never said she shouldn't be with them both!” 

“But you don't think she should!”

“I think she needs to be certain its what she wants,” Willow replied stubbornly and Buffy saw Spike, Vi, and Kennedy all smirking as how, in his quest to get Willow to side with him, Xander had pushed her to the other side. “Cause it won't be easy, being in a threesome. But you can't control who you love, Xander, you know that just as much as I do!” 

Xander suddenly paled and Buffy frowned. What was that about?

“You...that....its not the same!” he argued weakly. 

“Really?” Willow asked in a highly disbelieving tone. “Who was the one in my room the other night complaining about it?”

“That's....that's...damnit Willow!” he slumped, defeated, and though he obviously wasn't happy, whatever Willow was telling him seemed to have gotten through. 

Though now Buffy really wanted to know what was going on. It sounded like Xander had fallen in love again, but not with someone he thought he should. Who was it? If it was a guy, he had to know none of them would care.

She was about to open her mouth to ask but Spike cut in before she could. “That's all nice and everything,” he said, annoyed, “But what are we going to do about the Niblet and her blokes?”

Buffy put the mystery of Xander to the back of her mind—she was here for Dawnie, after all. She could figure him out later. 

“Might I make a suggestion?” Mycroft said, coming inside. He'd been hiding (he said working but Buffy knew better) in his office on the second floor. The yelling must have caught his attention. 

“Sure,” Buffy said, smiling up at him. He smiled back, leaning against the archway to the stairs. “Whatcha got?” 

“Mrs. Hudson,” he said simply. 

“Their landlady?” Willow asked, confused. 

Mycroft nodded. “She considers Sherlock and John sons,” he explained. “And I know she thinks the three of them should just get on with it already.”

“She does?” This was news to Buffy. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes. Of course. He'd deduced it. She hated when he did that. 

At least he'd stopped doing it to her. 

Mostly. 

**~~*~~**

They'd been arguing and planning and dismissing plans for close to an hour and not getting anywhere. Every plan had flaws, usually cause Sherlock and Dawn were simply too smart for their own good and John was liable to shoot them if they tried some of the other ideas. 

“I can't believe I'm about to say this,” Xander groaned after a moment. “But can't we just lock them in a closet until they spank their inner moppet?”

Buffy opened her mouth to argue and then snapped it shut, thinking about it. Dawn's issues stemmed from not wanting to deal, thus she was avoiding the boys. According to what Mycroft had uncovered, Sherlock's issues stemmed from not being comfortable having the feelings he was having, not to mention his kissing Dawn had not produced the results he'd been expecting. John was, as far as they knew, still in denial. 

Locking them in a closet to deal might actually work. 

“How would we keep Dawn from teleporting them out?” Vi asked, frowning. 

“John and Sherlock don't know about the supernatural,” Mycroft said. Buffy didn't tell him she was pretty sure Sherlock, actually, did know but just wasn't saying it. Now was not the time. 

“Dawn wouldn't want to break them,” Willow agreed. “But I can put up a ward around the place, make it impossible. I've done it before.”

Council HQ actually had cells now, for beings they'd been able to catch but needed to either interrogate or didn't know how to kill when they'd been initially encountered. Not even magic could penetrate the cells. If Willow could do that, Dawn would be trapped. 

“What about Sherlock?” 

“I can handle his tricks,” Mycroft nodded. “I know what he'd try.”

“I can't believe we're seriously contemplating this,” Xander sighed.

“It was your idea,” Spike pointed out oh-so-helpfully. Xander merely glared at him.

**~~*~~**

None of them could agree when to do it, or even how to get them all in there, and it was nearing dinnertime so Buffy decided to call for a break and order pizza. Mycroft left, he had a dinner meeting he couldn't miss with some military guy, and Buffy found herself in the kitchen alone with Spike, getting plates and drinks. 

“You really don't mind the idea of a threesome?” she blurted out, staring at him, as he reached inside the cupboard to get some more cups. He shook his head and she frowned. “Why not? You've hated every guy Dawnie's wanted or did date.”

Spike was silent for several minutes before he finally shrugged. “I didn't mention it cause One-Eye was looking like he was about to have a heart attack, but Dawn...when I broke into the blokes flat, I could tell Dawn'd been in there more than she'd been in her own place. And I know they were the ones who dealt with idiot who cheated on her. I found him the next day, hadn't heard about him being hung, and the moment he saw me he wet himself. Apparently Sherlock and John had mentioned that what they were going to do to him, which was bad enough, had nothing on me if I ever got it in my head to make good on my promise to make him regret hurting Dawn.” 

Buffy mentally translated that into “they already proved to me they can take good care of her,” and smiled. 

“If they hurt her though,” Spike said, turning to her with a lethal grin, a hint of gold in his eyes. “Not even Mickey'll be able to protect them.”

Buffy rolled her eyes as he left the room, all smug grace. Then she realized what Spike had called her boyfriend. 

"It's MYCROFT!"


	13. Green Grass (White Chloroform)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn may or may not kill her sister after all this is over and done with.

Buffy watched her sister eat the sandwiches. They were peanut butter and jelly, as Buffy'd been feeling nostalgic when she'd packed the picnic. 

“You're not seventeen anymore, are you?” she asked suddenly and Dawn blinked up a her, mouth full of food and mid-chew. Buffy smirked. “Though that look might make me think otherwise.” 

Dawn swallowed, taking a long gulp of the water bottle nearby. “What...are you talking about?” she asked. 

“I know about what's going on with you and the boys,” she said, purposely not saying their names. 

“There's nothing going on with me, John, and Sherlock!” she said and Buffy smiled as her sister's eyes widened. Gotcha. “Crap.” 

“Crap indeed,” she agreed. She ignored her sister's scrunched up face. “You wanna talk about it?” 

Dawn looked at her warily. “Am I being Punk'd?” Buffy rolled her eyes and Dawn frowned. “Seriously, what the hell, Buffy?” 

“I'm your big sister,” she reminded her. “And Mycroft might be willing to be all stiff upper lift about it--” 

“Lip,” her sister corrected her. “Still upper _lip_.” 

“Whatever, point is, we're American's. We talk about our issues,” she said and the two sisters exchanged grins at the old inside joke. “So talk. And I even promise not to tease you about it later. … Much.”

Dawn stared at her a moment before she seemed to deflate in on herself. “I blame you, you know,” she said and Buffy raised a single eyebrow at her. “If you hadn't started dating Mycroft, I wouldn't have met them.” 

“I will take responsibility for introducing you, but sweetheart, you got yourself into this all on your own,” Buffy said. “If I remember correctly, I was against you moving into Baker Street in the first place.” 

“You have spent way too much time with Mycroft,” Dawn sighed. “And yes, yes, I know, I did that all on my own. Still, how was I supposed to know?” 

“That'd you fall impossibly in love with them?” she asked and Dawn looked suddenly like she was about to crumble. “Oh, Dawnie...” 

She let her sister cry into her neck, rubbing a soothing circle on her back and giving reassuring looks at the other park-goers looking over with concern. Dawn finally pulled back, accepting the tissue Buffy had specifically brought for something like this. “I just...what am I going to do, Buffy?” she asked, sniffling. “I'm in love with two men who are in love with each other.” 

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise and she sucked in a quick breath. _She doesn't know...Oh lordy. Mycroft, you better be back there,_ she thought as she rested her cheek lightly against the top of her sister's head. She continued rubbing her sister's back as the entire thing poured out of the brunette's mouth. Buffy already knew it all, actually knew more about it than her sister apparently did, but a few things suddenly fell in place for the blonde. Thank God for Mycroft's plan. 

“C'mon,” Buffy said once Dawn finished what was obviously just a release. “I don't have any answers for you that you don't already know so we're gonna go get pampered.” 

Dawn opened her mouth to argue, must have seen something on Buffy's face, and snapped it shut with an audible click. They cleaned up their picnic, Buffy threw away the trash in the nearby cans as her sister found a nearby salon, and two sisters left the park. Crossing the street, Buffy looked over her shoulder and smiled when she caught sight of Mycroft nodding smugly at her. She rolled her eyes, even as she resisted the urge to giggle at John's pole-axed expression. Sherlock was just staring after them with an unreadable look. 

She turned back to her sister, listening as the brunette outlined what she was going to do at the salon, an obvious attempt to distract herself from her issues. She nodded in all the right places and once they were both settled down, Dawn getting highlights and Buffy soaking her feet for a pedicure, the slayer sent a single text to everyone who'd been at the meeting. 

_Operation Dawn's Delight is a go,_ it said. _If you don't have everything prepped when I get Dawn back to the flat, I will be extremely pissed off. This ridiculousness ends tonight._

**~~*~~**

It took them almost three hours to get back to the flat. Buffy had insisted on spoiling Dawn rotten, knowing the key would be beyond miffed at her once she realized what the blonde had done. If the younger woman thought anything of it, she didn't say a word. 

Stepping inside the flat, Buffy saw Willow duck out of sight by the back window. Dawn didn't notice and Buffy took a deep breath when she saw Vi's red hair flash into sight by the door to Dawn's bedroom. Dawn smiled up at her, mouth opening to say something, when Vi snuck in, a cloth of chloroform in hand to cover Dawn's mouth and nose with. “Sorry Dawnie,” she said sternly as her sister struggled fruitlessly. “But this nonsense ends now. You are talking with them.” 

The last thing Buffy saw before her sister passed out was the look of betrayal there. She winced as she helped Vi catch the brunette. Oh yeah, she was in so much trouble when Dawn finally got out of this.

**~~*~~**

The first thought in Dawn's mind when she groggily woke up was that she was going to kill her sister. Not kick her like she had the last time this happened, she was going to full on kill her. 

The second was that Vi's ass was grass for not telling her she was back in London.

“...the hell?” a familiar voice groaned nearby and Dawn sat bolt upright, her sister's last words coming to mind as she realized she laid down on a bed, John and Sherlock on another nearby. It looked like a hotel room and there was a bathroom nearby but there was no actual door, just a curtain. 

That BITCH!

“Dawn?” John asked, blinking groggily at her. “What are you...where are we?” 

“Last thing I remember is watching as you were drugged,” Sherlocks' voice said, proving they weren't the only two awake. “And a needle going into my own arm while my...brother...watched.” 

The way he said brother told Dawn all she needed to know on his current opinion of Mycroft. He sat up, looking physically ruffled but generally unconcerned. He caught her gaze and she knew instinctively that he knew as well as she what this was all about. She flushed and turned away. Damn him. Damn him all to _hell_.

“We were drugged?” John asked, finally coming from his haze. “By Mycroft?!” 

“You're surprised?” Sherlock snorted. John opened his mouth to answer and then seemed to think better of it. The detective turned to her. “I imagine you're here as a matter of course?” 

“Buffy and Vi, I think,” she answered, shifting on her bed. She wasn't hurt but chloroform always made her lethargic. “Chloroform—I hate when they do that.” 

“You've been chloroformed before?” John asked, startled. 

“By Xander, trying to get me out of Sunnydale the night before it imploded,” she answered. “I wasn't going to leave Buffy behind. It was a thing.” 

John looked like he really wanted more answers but something caught his attention and he got up off the bed to grab a note dangling from the lightbulb. He read through it quickly, swallowing heavily before handing it off to Sherlock. The curly haired man read it through once and didn't look the least bit surprised by its contents. He handed it to Dawn. 

**“Dawn, Sherlock, & John: **

**Now that we have you're attention, please note that NOTHING you do will get you out of this room. Between Willow and ourselves, you are thoroughly stuck. There is enough food in the fridge to last for a week and make no mistake, we _will_ keep you there until you talk this thing out. We don't care what you decide, but at the very least you are not leaving until everything is out on the table.**

**And Dawn, we're very sorry for this but Xander thought this might be the only way to get you to admit what the hell was going on to the boys—they were at the park. They heard everything.**

**See you in a few days (we really hope this doesn't take so long but we're being realistic here).**

**All of our love,  
Buffy & Mycroft**

**PS: Sherlock, Dawn, you might want to ask John about his recent 'experiments.' - MH”**

Dawn felt all the blood leave her face as she read through it. This was so much worse than she'd originally thought. She steadfast refused to look up, aware her entire face was flaming red, as she folded the note and put it on the nearby bedside table.

“Experiments?” Sherlock asked and Dawn twitched, forcing herself to not look up. She didn't want to see the pity.

“I hate your brother, Sherlock,” John answered after a few moments. “And I don't care to think about how he figured out what I was doing.” 

“Well?” Sherlock persisted impatiently. “What were you experimenting on?” 

The silence stretched on and just as the silence was at its breaking point, John mumbled something too soft and jumbled for Dawn to figure out. “What?” Sherlock asked and Dawn finally looked up, almost involuntarily. John was as red as the jumper he was wearing, looking up at the ceiling. Sherlock, she was surprised to notice, had a small flush working its way up his neck as he stared at John. 

“I said,” he finally answered, looking at Sherlock stubbornly. “I've been experimenting with my fantasies.” 

“You're...fantasies.” _Sherlock is adorable when he's confused,_ Dawn thought to herself right before she herself realized what John must have meant. She snapped her attention back to her hands. 

“Yes, Sherlock, are you happy?!” John snapped. “Apparently I'm not as straight nor monogamous as I thought I was!”

Dawn's breath stuttered at that, eyes widening as she looked up at John in shock. Sherlock seemed just as startled, mouth slightly open as he stared at John in bewilderment. That at least seemed to make John smile a bit, even if it was obviously forced. “Figures it would take something like that to shock you two.” 

Instead of answering, Sherlock shot to his feet and stood in John's personal space. Despite knowing this was long in coming and she probably should give them privacy, Dawn couldn't stop watching as Sherlock lifted a hand to hover just above John's cheeks as he studied the suddenly still medic. Then he pressed his lips to John's and Dawn, after a few moments of them attempting to suck each others face off, decided that it was time to retreat to the bathroom (as that was only place here that would give them any sense of privacy). As she inched past them, John's hand snapped out and grabbed her, breaking from Sherlock with a bizarre popping sound. She looked anywhere but at him until she suddenly felt fingers, these with callouses, traced her cheek in the same way Sherlock had with John. She finally reluctantly locked eyes with him. He was smiling nervously. 

“You did hear that bit about monogamy, right?” he asked, with a wry twist of his lips. She opened her mouth, though she had no idea what she was going to say, when he leaned forward to kiss her. His lips were chapped, her lip gloss had long since dissolved, and he still had hold of Sherlock so the angle wasn't great, but Dawn melted all the same. His free hand twisted into her hair as his tongue asked for permission. She granted it just as a strangled moan came from him. Shifting slightly, she could just make out Sherlock's curly head in the crook of John's neck. 

“I am feeling very left out,” she heard Sherlock murmur right before he lifted his head to look at them both. “After all, I had but one small kiss from our sunrise.” 

John let her go and she barely had time to realize what was about to happen before it did, Sherlock's lips covering her own with a sort of experimental hunger she rather thought suited him. The hand in her hair tightened as John groaned again. 

“Bloody hell,” he cursed before she could feel him shift into the detective's neck. She could feel Sherlock smile against her lips and she couldn't help but return it, feeling a bit giddy. 

Buffy just might be getting a pass on the whole murdered in her sleep thing, she thought as they shuffled towards a bed.

She was still going to kick her though.

**~~*~~**

Buffy was watching Downton Abbey with Mycroft (a guilty pleasure of his he'd gotten her hooked on) when her phone lit up with a message from Vi. The redhead had been the one who'd taken over the hotel room next to the one they'd stashed the three idiots in and had promised to remain until certain the three had at least laid it out on the table. 

_Operation Dawn's Delight is a success,_ the beginning read. _Leaving now though. Pretty sure no one wants me to be listening to them right now, including me. Ugh._

Despite the mild horror she felt at the idea of Dawn doing anything she herself had been doing since she was seventeen, Buffy grinned and turned the phone off before snuggling into Mycroft's side. His hand came up to run through her hair. 

“Good news?” he asked.

“For once, one of our plans didn't blow up in our face,” she murmured. “So yeah, good news.”


End file.
